Oblivion has its enticements
by missunderstood77
Summary: Lexa spends her childhood longing for affection, until she learns detachment... Then a bubbly blonde storms into her life, more than willing to give Lexa what she has always craved. But is Clarke too late? A coming-of-age Clexa fic, in which the girls form an unlikely friendship, before Lexa realizes she is falling for her friend. What will the discreet young adult do about it?
1. Chapter 1

Lexa was a tranquil child; she was conceived calmly by her parents, one lazy summer afternoon. She was delivered placidly by her doctor and her silent mother. She was raised in a hushed manner by her impenetrable grandmother—her mother was otherwise occupied. Lexa was an only child, ignored by the neighbor's kids, who found her too placid for their taste. So she made up imaginary friends, with whom she would ponder life and why it was so bland.

At an age where girls developed crushes and new body parts, she developed a sense of doom. She walked around feeling like an alien among humans, wishing she would get called back to the mother ship, or hoping that at least her people would send someone down to keep her company.

Her wish was granted at twelve years of age. On an uneventful autumn morning, she was playing with her imaginary dog Louie during recess—the dog's hyperactivity contrasted with her blasé attitude and made her weary, but she still loved him—when the imaginary boomerang slipped from her hand and fell at the feet of a tall, bony blonde. Looking up from the crouching position she was in, Lexa felt her heart do a funny thing in her chest. She felt a wave of relief wash over her, even while her heart was far from relieved. She thought back to all those nights she spent trying to listen to her heartbeat with the fake stethoscope her mother had given her for her eighth birthday—the demanding woman's subtle way of brainwashing her daughter into becoming a doctor—the panic she had felt when she couldn't hear anything, the conclusion she had come to that she wasn't alive; a conclusion seconded by her family, who always referred to her as lifeless. In that moment, with the blonde girl flashing her a sympathetic, albeit confused smile, Lexa felt anything but lifeless. For the first time in her short and tame life, she sensed that she was about to experience something important. She rose to her feet unsteadily, wanting to witness this moment as fully and as reverently as she could.

"Hey there! Not sure what you just threw at me, but it must have been light, because I didn't feel a thing!" Then the blonde burst into laughter, music to Lexa's ears.

Lexa's lips perked up in an almost there smile; she liked the sensation. She also liked this girl—the first non imaginary creature she tolerated since her grandmother. She was lost. What came next? What was she supposed to say? She wanted to tell the girl that she thought her hair was made of golden threads, that her voice sounded like home. But she had an inkling this wasn't appropriate first meeting conversation. So she remained quiet, her eyes alternating between the revelation in front of her and Louie, who was surprisingly staying still for once; maybe he was as enthralled with the vision before them as Lexa.

After a minute or so, the blonde abandoned all hope of having a normal conversation—any conversation—with the frail, wide-eyed girl staring intermittently at her. So with a shrug of her shoulders she admitted defeat and proceeded to retreat, but not before a final thought:

"Alright then, I guess I'll see you around. I'm available if you need company for any type of imaginary activity! Maybe an imaginary bike ride home?"

And a beat later: "Okay broody, until next time! Name's Clarke. If you're capable of speech, ask around for me. I'm kind of a big deal around here."

Lexa was at a loss for words, even when her best imaginary childhood friend Anya asked her what was wrong. She had been in this school her entire life, and never had she seen or even heard of that Clarke girl. And even though she was accustomed to people not noticing her, Lexa was very attentive to her surroundings. There was no way that the life-sized fairy had been walking among them in school, on earth, unbeknownst to Lexa. Then her friend of two years Lincoln suggested that maybe that girl was other-worldly. He meant it as a joke, he was always the one to lighten the mood. But not this time. This time, Lexa knew what had transpired was too big to laugh off. She may not have been capable of human feelings such as love and admiration, but she had a lot of curiosity in her and whoever that girl was, Lexa was going to figure her out. And who knows, maybe even turn her into one of her imaginary friends.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Lexa saw Clarke wasn't until high school. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't even catch a glimpse of the ethereal beauty, which had Lexa more convinced than ever that she was outlandish. Try as she may to ask around for her, to demand to know about her, mum was the word, and the petite brunette wondered if her schoolmates were protecting her from the blonde; or vice versa. She sent Lincoln on recons, asked Anya to be her usual blunt, loud self and conduct interrogations about her, but to no avail. Just as she was about to dive back into herself and shut out the outside world completely, it happened again.

It was stormy weather, which was unusual for that time of year. Lexa was fourteen now, a couple of inches taller, with greener eyes and fairer skin—the result of too much time spent inside, as her grandmother had gotten more overprotective with age and wouldn't allow her to play outside as often. Lexa was sitting at her bedroom window pane, watching intently as clouds meshed together, only to be separated by lightning, which made them cry out for each other. It was sad; beautiful. Lexa appreciated it. She was imagining—willing—some being out of the sky, biking their way toward her and whisking her away. Right on cue, a taller, plumper version of the girl who haunted her waking dreams appeared before her. She was trying to ride her bike through the storm; and failing royally at it. Louie burst into barking at the sight, but Lexa couldn't be bothered to silence him; her priority was snapping herself out of her stupor, going outside and guiding the girl toward her room. She did none of those things, simply staring at the girl—Clarke, she reminded herself—as she passed her by, so close now that Lexa could see her hair sticking to her forehead and shoulders, and droplets of water falling down from her eyelids. Lexa wasn't sure if they were drops of rain or tears. She had a passing thought that the only way to make sure was to taste them.

Then the blonde suddenly looked up and locked eyes with her, and Lexa felt the drenched girl's gaze bore into her. Not used to being the center of attention, or even at the periphery of it, the powerful stare snapped Lexa into action. Without losing her composure, she walked steadily to the front door, sure she would find the girl waiting for her . And there she was: shivering, soaking wet, eyes bigger and sparkier than Lexa remembered. The brunette felt tiny and all-powerful at once. She started asking the dripping beauty about existence, hers in particular: what her dreams were, what her first waking thought was, how she imagined the afterlife, if she even believed in it—Lexa had no patience for small talk. She was just about to address politics when Clarke spoke up, which made her realize that she had been having the whole conversation in her head.

"Well if it isn't miss Pouty! I was starting to think you were as imaginary as that rock or whatever you threw at me last time I saw you. It's been a while hasn't it? You've grown! Not as much as I have, but still. You look much more grown up. I like it."

Clarked apparently had no problem with small talk. Which only served to quiet Lexa down further. She was starting to feel that all too familiar sense of doom overtaking her, dragging her back to her own little world, and she contemplated shutting the door in the girl's face and regaining her seat at the window to watch her pedal her way through the mud; after all, life made so much more sense from the outside looking in, even if in that instance she would be inside and the object of her contemplation would be fending for herself outside. The word play Lexa just did in her head amused her; the image of a freezing, lonely Clarke made her cringe. Both warring emotions made for a weird look on her face, which Clarke took as a sign that she should, once again, leave the peculiar girl be.

"I guess I'll be on my way then… It's been a pleasure; as always!" Clarke meant to sound light and unfazed, but she was about to step back into apocalyptic weather, and the mute brunette was starting to get on her nerves. She was starting to believe that she could never get through to her, like her friends insisted on telling her every time she would bring up the strange stranger who communicated with her through her eyes. It had been years since she had last seen her; yet her memory had lingered. Upon hearing about their encounter, her friends had recognized the "freak of nature" immediately, and had some choice words to say about her "sick" attitude. Despite their protests, Clarke maintained that the bond she felt to this introverted recluse was real; and it endured over time.

In that moment though, standing at Lexa's front door, sensing that the girl was about to shut the door—literally and figuratively—Clarke felt stupid for believing in a tie to someone who apparently wasn't even capable of mere human sympathy. Clarke wasn't one to beg for such a sentiment, so she turned on her heels and threw an "Okay, bye!" in the direction of a confused Lexa.

"Just where do you think you're going in this godforsaken storm?"

Louie had started barking again, in an effort to alert Lexa that her grandmother had walked into the room, but the brunette was too caught up in the moment to pay attention. And now she was about to pay the price for her distraction.


	3. Chapter 3

The world was made of good and bad people; mostly bad ones. Of that Lexa was sure. And yet, she had never been able to put her grandmother in either category. The woman was difficult at best, but she was also caring, albeit in her own twisted way, and she loved her granddaughter. Lexa was certain of that fact as well. She couldn't blame the older woman for her strict upbringing, the same one she imparted on the child. She couldn't blame her for the spanking she felt was necessary when Lexa was merely three years old, watching her grandmother's favorite Mexican soap, then explaining to her only real interlocutor how she felt tingly all over when the male protagonist finally locked lips with his soulmate—a chaste kiss if there ever was one. From that beating she took, Lexa concluded that love was weakness, that lust was a punishable offense, and that she was better off with people like Lincoln and Anya whom she had complete power over, around whom she could keep her feelings in check.

Which made her current situation that much more confusing. For the first time in her fourteen years, she was in the presence of her grandmother and another creature—she still wasn't sure Clarke was entirely human, she much preferred thinking of her a sky princess, especially after her appearance out of thin air during the thunderstorm. She had no idea how her grandmother interacted with other people. If she were to guess, she would say the stern woman had the same methods as Lexa; after all, the reserved girl had to inherit her rigidity from someone. Clarke would be in for quite the conversation.

"Hello there Goldilocks, who might you be? Last time we took in a stray, it was this little missy's imaginary dog! Don't worry, she's not retarded or anything, God forbid. We had her checked. She's just 'closed off from the world', doctor's exact words! Why are you standing there gaping at me, come in! Come dry off and warm up. I'll make you some hot chocolate."

To say Lexa was dumbfounded would be an understatement. Had the lightning created a vortex sending her to an alternate reality? Or was this shiny-even-when-wet girl a witch who had cast a nice spell on her implacable grandmother?

"Glad to see someone in the family is capable of speech!" said Clarke through a grin. She passed by Lexa, nudging her shoulder, then looking over her own to add: "Coming? I need somebody to guide me to the marshmallows!"

Bowing her head in defeat, Lexa followed the ray of sunshine into the kitchen, while Anya was whispering to her not to ruin this, and Lincoln was commenting on how carefree and _happy_ the girl seemed, and maybe that would rub off on them? Lexa wasn't pleased with the idea. She hadn't even spoken to the tornado of a girl, yet she was already turning Lexa's flavorless life upside down. _  
_


	4. Chapter 4

Lexa went to get Clarke the marshmallows, if only to busy herself while her grandmother and the stranger invading her personal space engaged in a lively conversation. Lexa was having trouble following it; most of the conversations she had witnessed so far were orchestrated by her, so she could set their pace. But the two newfound friends were exchanging information frantically, and giggling like schoolgirls—which was fine when Clarke was concerned, but what on earth had gotten into the rigid woman? Lexa couldn't help but wonder if she brought up the stoic side in her grandmother, if the woman was actually jovial and chatty, but became collected around her granddaughter. Maybe that was the only way the older woman found to communicate with her. Lexa was quickly thinking herself into the abyss trying to figure out what came first: her attitude or her grandmother's, when a melodic sound pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts.

"Ahem. These marshmallows sure are hard to find!"

Somehow, between the moment Lexa had gotten to the pantry and the moment she started contemplating her conundrum, Clarke had snuck up on her. Her grandmother was still talking to the girl about some show they both enjoyed, but Clarke was right behind her. She could feel her breath on her neck; Lexa found it unsettling. She jerked away from it and threw the recently acquired bag of marshmallows—she was so lost in her thoughts she didn't even notice that she had grabbed it from the cupboard—at a startled Clarke. Shoulders slumped, Lexa made a beeline for the kitchen but didn't sit down, somehow hoping an upright position would better protect her from the blonde's assault, though she could still feel Clarke's breath tickling her spine.

"Lexa, don't be rude. Sit down, talk to this lovely girl!"

Lexa simply stared ahead, at what appeared to be nothing. She was actually having a silent conversation with Anya.

"I don't want to talk to her. I want her to go away."

"Honey, I know. But she's not like Lincoln and me. You can't command her to disappear. Or do anything really. We're your people. She's from elsewhere, you have no power over her. She's a sky princess, remember? So treat her as such. Consider that she's been sent by her people as an ambassador. Wouldn't you want to negotiate with a representative of another nation?"

Anya always knew how to reason with her; she should have talked to Lincoln.

"Fine. I will ask her for a private meeting in my chambers so as to discuss matters at hand."

That was all well and good, but it didn't change the fact that Lexa didn't know how to talk to the extroverted girl. They belonged to different species, and she was never one to fraternize with the unknown. Fortunately for her—at least that's what she told herself—the conversation between Clarke and her grandmother was winding down, and the unsettling girl looked like she was about to excuse herself and go back to the sky. It made Lexa feel something close to panic; she tried to tell herself that was what excessive relief felt like, but there was an extent to the lies she could believe. Feeling the urgency of the moment, she made a step toward the blonde and proceeded to open her mouth, in hopes that something—anything—would come out, only to be silenced, yet again, by her grandmother's harsh tone.

"I'm sorry you have to leave, beautiful Clarke. It looks like Lexa has ruined another budding relationship, much like she did her parents'. Those two used to argue well into the night over the exasperating girl; each blaming the other for the way she is. I myself used to tell them that all their arguing was turning her into _this_ even more… So you see if she's catatonic, it's because the only interactions she ever witnessed scared her into being that way. I like to think of her as a modern version of _Nell_! But you're too young to know that movie."

Her grandmother finished her statement laughing—she was actually laughing, head thrown back, teeth showing and everything. She hugged Clarke who reciprocated half-heartedly and left without another word.

Clarke was avoiding looking at Lexa. When their gazes finally locked, Lexa could see sympathy in the girl's eyes, endearment, understanding; but not pity. That was new. Lexa wished Clarke would hold her. She only let herself feel it for a second. Then she walked toward the main door, on a mission. And Clarke followed; she knew. Holding the door open, Lexa gave her sky princess a small nod, before finally doing what she had been wanting to do all along. She shut Clarke out of her house and her life.


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next couple of years, Lexa kept to herself even more than she had before. She didn't do any extracurricular activities or attend any school events. She stayed behind in class during lunch, eating whatever sandwich she had managed to prepare that morning behind her grandmother's back. She got constantly excused from gym class for having too frail a body, and excused herself from talking to the panoply of therapists, social workers and doctors who showed interest in "her case", trying extra hard after each meeting request to act normal—heaven knows she didn't want to cause any fuss. She simply wanted to be left alone with the world she had built for herself, which had only expanded over time.

She had new friends: there was Gustus, a hefty guy who kept her out of harm's way—after all, she was queen of her kingdom, a perilous position with many foes seeking to eliminate her. Then she got a tiger cat named Kitty who ate too much and was as selfish as Lexa's mother; but she loved her anyway, much like she did her mom.

A few months later she conjured up Indra, her trusted confidante, "trusted" being the operative word, because Lexa could never entrust Anya with the secrets she told Indra. Like how even months after their last encounter, she still thought about a certain blonde with a smile to light up a room and a voice to soothe the soul, whose eyes were so expressive that she needn't say a word—yet she spoke much more than Lexa could tolerate; and Lexa liked it. She told Indra times and times again how the sky princess came into her world, all the scenarios she thought of in which Clarke would be a part of her life still, a silent companion—the chatty girl would rebel against the idea at first, but Lexa would teach her the perks of communicating with looks. Sometimes, when she was bold enough to say it, she would admit she wouldn't have minded for the overly friendly girl to become her "friend". Indra would always listen without interrupting—unlike Anya—then would remind a saddened Lexa that this was for the best, that she couldn't put her whole kingdom at risk to be around an utter stranger with the potential to completely wreck her. Lexa would give a small nod that lacked conviction.

The most novel addition to Lexa's court though, was an entrancing girl by the name of Costia. At sixteen, a much more physically developed Lexa started to feel urges she had long been suppressing. She craved something she couldn't yet put into words. Nevertheless, she instinctively sensed that it had to do with physical proximity, and was naturally inclined to seek such proximity with a girl. In came Costia, a lively and carefree redhead with fiery eyes and a curvy body, who reminded her of someone, though she wasn't nearly as luminous as the blonde monopolizing Lexa's thoughts. Her newest friend would make her presence known at night, often holding Lexa flush against her until the latter fell asleep. The curious brunette even went on exploratory missions of Costia's body on a couple of occasions, when the feeling that something was eating her that she couldn't quite put her finger on, grew so much she had to act on it. So hands roamed over covered bodies and limbs rubbed against each other. However, instead of alleviating the foreign ache within her, these forays into Costia's body only made Lexa's unidentified frustration stronger.


	6. Chapter 6

At seventeen, Lexa couldn't be as out of touch with reality anymore. She couldn't take Louie for a walk without feeling eyes on her, the scrutiny physically hurting her with its intensity, especially after years of going unnoticed. She couldn't sit in parks and write about the absurdity of existence and other mundane topics without a boy coming up to her and awkwardly babbling something she never listened to, before slowly—and sometimes less slowly—backing away when she would stare him down. She thanked the stars that she never felt the need to talk to her entourage out loud; she knew they only existed in the imaginary realm in which she chose to invest her thoughts and feelings. She tried to go out at less crowded hours; she would sneak out of her room at dawn to ride her bicycle and even tried going to school on weekends. But it only earned her a scolding from her grandmother, after which Lexa was forced to face the fact she was so determined to deny: she was now a beautiful young woman, who was bound to draw the attention of the opposite sex, and the occasional appreciative stare from a girl here and there that she couldn't understand. Still, she felt funny each time she got one, though she chose to file it under "reactions I don't want to analyze", a folder that had up until now only contained elements in relation to her sky princess.

Thus began a new chapter of Lexa's life—the second, really. She went from nonexistence to overexposure overnight, and she wished she could hire a manager to handle her newfound fame, like she saw "stars"—she found that term confusing—do it on reality shows she occasionally half-watched with her grandmother. Being the most popular of her bunch, Anya tried to tell her to smile more, to engage people, and why not go out with one of her suitors. But Lexa thought if she were to give anyone a chance, she would want it to be none other than the bubblier than ever blonde who was in her chemistry class (Lexa liked to think it wasn't a coincidence that they shared this particular class), and sat diagonally from her, at the far corner of the classroom.

Lexa knew Clarke's reputation for being all party and no studies. Hence, it wasn't a surprise that the "princess"—that was her official nickname—chose to sit at the window, halfway outside the room. Lexa would think the girl had an "anywhere but here" vibe, which she could relate to. If only she could tell her about her imaginary world, maybe even have her reside there and reign alongside her. But senior year was almost over and the best she had managed to do was spend chemistry classes eyeing the window and sighing.

One day, Clarke came into class with braided hair, which highlighted her cheekbones even more and made her eyes a shinier shade of blue, and Lexa couldn't stop herself from prolonging her furtive glances. Much to her chagrin, Clarke noticed, and seemed bothered by the constant looks. At the end of the class, she confidently strode toward a panic stricken Lexa who was trying to run away but couldn't get her feet to move, and outright asked her:

"See something you like?"

"Yes."

Up until Lexa stuttered that one syllable, Clarke had looked weary and annoyed. As soon as the word escaped her mouth though, Lexa could see the sudden change in the blonde's features. She was taken aback; then her eyes softened and glimmered with something Lexa didn't recognize. If only she could have stopped herself from saying what came next…

"Bird. There is a baby bird flying around and I was making sure it would go back to its nest."

Clarke laughed, but her laughter didn't have a ring to it. It didn't sound sincere. Then she shook her head and walked away.

Lexa felt like crawling into a hole and letting herself die. How did those words come out of her mouth? Since when was she so quick with excuses, and why did she feel the urge to make one up, when all she had been wanting for years was to get a chance to talk to her sky princess?

The isolated, uncaring girl Lexa knew herself to be should have considered this episode as a sign that any type of interaction with real people could only lead to heartache, and that she shouldn't allow herself to be this weak again. And yet, in that moment, while she got out of her seat on wobbly legs and headed to the nearest restroom to spend her free period, Lexa vowed that she would speak to Clarke again. And this time she would speak true, and let the chips fall where they may.


	7. Chapter 7

The real world didn't abide by her rules and wishes; of that Lexa was sure. And yet, the universe must have heard her desire for another chance with the girl who had passed the many days following "the incident"—a day that Lexa decided had shamed her reign as queen and would henceforth live in infamy—outright ignoring the mortified brunette. Under any other circumstances, Lexa would have cherished the empty looks and the shoves—she couldn't help but wonder if Clarke was going easy on her, because the blonde was known for her athletic prowess but was grazing Lexa's shoulders rather than shoving her. However, this was her sky princess, and though she appreciated the eye and physical contact, Lexa ached to make things right.

So when the universe gave her an opportunity to share the same space as her cross classmate, for the first time in her short life, Lexa felt _lucky_. The miracle came in the most unexpected way. March was nearing its end, spring was blossoming and on that day, Lexa woke up with a pit in her stomach signaling an important event. She went through significant dates with Anya: each of her friends' first appearance in her world, her dad leaving, Louie and Kitty's adoption, the four times her mother told her she loved her, the first time Clarke smiled at her… None of these events happened anywhere close to this day. Lexa brushed off her peculiar impression and went about her daily routine, taking extra care of her appearance, for she had chemistry class, and was hoping that while Clarke stared holes through her, she was still seeing the apologetic girl before her.

As soon as she set foot in chemistry class though, even before she could bask in the revelation that was the girl sitting in the far corner, her teacher informed her that the principal wanted to see her at her office. The sinking feeling in her stomach intensifying, Lexa headed with heavy steps to said office. The principal loved her, she knew as much. Whatever Lexa lacked in social skills, she made up for in academics. She had been first in her class for as far as she could remember, and had the valedictorian thing locked down; only she didn't want it. She wasn't going to address a whole crowd of raging teenagers, when she spent her childhood refusing to address a single one of them. She wondered if now was a good time to bring the subject up with the smitten principal, then thought better of it; she had to see what was needed of her first.

A beaming lady in her mid-forties, dressed to the nines—as was always the case—with hair pulled back in a bun greeted her warmly. Lexa valued whatever small interactions she had with the kind woman. She knew it was silly, but she thought of her as a mother figure, affectionate and attentive to her needs; after all, her exchanges with her real mother barely outnumbered the ones she shared with her principal.

She was pulled away from her thoughts by a soft voice.

"My dear Lexa, it has been far too long. You never visit and since you don't give me any reason to call for you, I have to content myself with your teachers' testimonials; which are stellar of course!"

Lexa nodded in response, and rewarded her principal with a small pull of the lips to the side.

"Right. You're not one to beat around the bush. I've always admired that in you! Listen my dear girl. I, make that the school, has a favor to ask you. Now I know you won't be thrilled about this, but keep in mind that it would look great on your record. Even though your record is pristine! I'm not trying to put any pressure on you here… You see, she needs your help; but she won't admit it… Her parents, they're at the end of their rope. I don't know how to ask you this…

For someone who just told her she valued straightforwardness, the nervous lady sure was taking her time. Lexa was confused; was she so scary that a grown woman who was in charge of a whole bunch of people—much like Lexa herself—was _intimidated_ by her? She was tempted to laugh at that ridiculous theory, then remembered it wasn't something she allowed herself to do in public. When a moment passed and the principal was still pausing, Lexa took pity on her and tried to speed things along.

"Madam principal, I know you wouldn't ask me to do something I am not comfortable with. And I trust you know me well enough to discern the things that make me uncomfortable. State what the matter at hand is and I give you my word that I will give it careful consideration before making a decision."

The woman now looked at her in amusement—as she often did when Lexa spoke up. Lexa had grown so curious to understand that look that she had once mustered up enough courage to inquire about it. It turns out her principal found her way of expressing herself "so formal it was endearing". Lexa didn't get it, but thought she was better off not understanding.

"Very well then, my well-spoken angel. Here's the matter at hand: one of your classmates is failing chemistry and her parents would like for her to be tutored by our best student—you."

Lexa suddenly understood what she was feeling all morning. Her stomach was now in knots, and she could sense sweat seeping through her palms. Once again, for the second time that year, words pushed their way out of her throat on their own accord.

"Who?"

"Clarke Griffin. Now I know she can be…"

"Yes."

"Sorry?"

"I will tutor her. When do we start."

Her question sounded more like a statement, but she didn't want to leave room for hesitation. This was too crucial to risk messing it up.

"Lexa, are you sure you comprehend what is being asked of you? You will have to spend a lot of time with Miss Griffin, and she can be… a handful? With your… particular social skills, she will…"

"Yes. I'm sure. I have been wanting to interact with my classmates more. With the impending graduation and a speech to prepare, I need to know more about them. And who better to start with than queen bee herself. Yolo, as kids say nowadays."

Who was she right now? How could the mere mention of the sky girl turn her into a quick on her feet, smooth talker? And did she just agree to give the valedictorian speech? This was not good. She should put a stop to this right this instant. She hadn't even had a real conversation with Clarke, and the fascinating girl was already changing her. _Perhaps for the better?_ No, this wasn't right. She was going to tell the principal she was joking. She never made jokes, but she figured the woman wouldn't find it any odder than the insane monologue she just listened to. She cleared her throat and hoped for the best.

"If that is all, I would like to be excused. Chemistry class has started and I should not miss any of it. After all, I am studying for two."

The principal looked at her with lost eyes, and Lexa swore her hair had become disheveled. The woman was at a loss for words—which the usually silent girl found ironic. She merely gestured for Lexa to go about her business and as she was exiting her office, Lexa looked back at the still puzzled lady and thanked her. She had never meant any words more. She was grateful to her principal, to Clarke's parents, to the inventor of chemistry; grateful for Clarke's priorities that obviously didn't involve studying; for her own, which involved nothing else. She was grateful to be alive. Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest she felt waves reverberating in her ears. For a moment, she feared she would drop dead on her way to class. But no; she couldn't die. Not now. Not when she finally had something to live for.


	8. Chapter 8

The last Sunday of March, Lexa awoke from a restless sleep with a start; she had been dreaming that she overslept and missed her first tutoring session with her protégée-to-be. She looked over at her alarm clock: 5 a. m. She turned her phone on to make sure it wasn't already Monday. Then she checked her pulse before letting out a sigh of relief. She was alive and well; her weather app forecasted a sunny day—not that she would mind a replay of the storm from all those years ago, maybe forcing Clarke to ask her to stay over, just to be safe—all was right with the world.

For the umpteenth time that week, she found herself thanking God for allowing such an unbelievable turn of events, before picking up the chemistry notes tossed on her bedside table and going through them again. She knew the material well enough to teach a whole class, but she also knew the effect the sky girl had on her; she was most likely to forget how to breathe—which wouldn't be so bad either, maybe Clarke would have to reanimate her. These unfiltered thoughts and the sensations they elicited were completely foreign to Lexa, but she never had time to dwell on them. Between her studies, her duties as ruler of her kingdom—including but not limited to having daily talks with each of her subjects, which were becoming less and less satisfying—and her recently acquired taste for writing, Lexa couldn't allow herself much daydreaming anymore. Though if she were to think about it, her writings were nothing but the extension of her reveries, her many alternative scenarios put on paper. Inevitably, they all circled back to the blonde hurricane that was wreaking havoc on her mind; even when she tried writing an absurd piece about a post-apocalyptic world ruled by clans and full of dangerous fauna and flora and evil mountain men, she ended up creating a wise-beyond-her-years fearless teenage leader who coincidentally fell from the sky, and pacified the warring clans.

When she checked the time again, it was almost seven; Lexa had spent the past two hours engulfed in thoughts of Clarke. It had to be enough for now though; the center of her worlds was expecting her at 10 a. m. Lexa was surprised to learn that the girl who had once casually wandered about her quarters actually lived an hour away. If she ever managed to sustain a casual conversation with her, Lexa would ask her why she had strayed so far from her neighborhood on that fateful stormy day.

For now, Lexa had to focus on making herself presentable. _Pretty_ , she corrected. She was never one for getting dolled up, no matter how much her grandmother tried to get her to. The only time she got dressed up was for Sunday mass; and that was a different kind of look than the one she was trying to conjure up right now. She wanted to look _appealing_ ; wanted Clarke to notice her eyes that everyone told her were an extraordinary shade of green, her figure that seemed so attractive to boys—who would particularly compliment her behind, so she chose to wear the most fitting pair of jeans she had; which happened to be an old worn out pair from two years ago. Lexa didn't buy form-fitting clothes.

Her hair was another story. It had always been wild, and she never bothered to tame it. What to do then, when she wanted the random curls to fall in place, like Clarke's, whose strands were always perfectly aligned, begging to have hands run through them? Lexa willed her racing heartbeat to slow down. She was ready. It was time. She was going to meet her fate. She realized as she was thinking it that the expression was rather morbid. However, Lexa felt it was fitting; after today, a part of her—the asocial girl who never had a meaningful conversation with anyone her age—would be gone. Strangely enough, she didn't mind. It was time. On her way out, she apologized to her grandmother once more for missing mass—a first for the devout catholic girl—and all but sprinted outside, ignoring Louie's barks for attention and Gustus' invitation to go running. Real life was waiting, and Lexa was finally ready for it.


	9. Chapter 9

_Be charming, be charming_. Lexa repeated her mantra all the way to Clarke's front porch. As she was about to knock, the door was flung open, and she came face to face—right fist to shoulder—with the girl, who muttered something under her breath, before stating noncommittally:

"You're early."

Of course she was. Lexa valued punctuality. And in this instance, with Clarke's house so far away and her feet threatening to fail her at any moment, the safest choice was to get there twenty minutes ahead of schedule.

"I'm sorry." Lexa wasn't sure what she was apologizing for: her early arrival or how she had treated the blonde the previous times they met. She felt lighter either way. At least she had said something of substance to her classmate, something she meant.

If Clarke was feeling any emotion at the moment, she wasn't letting it show. Lexa was unnerved by the blank expression she was used to seeing staring back at her in the mirror. Of all the states she had seen Clarke in, impassibility wasn't one of them. Did she cause this? Had she rejected her almost friend one too many times? Did she ruin this before even getting a decent chance of finding out what it could have been?

"Move," deadpanned Clarke.

"No," Lexa shot back, which elicited a slight twinkle of reaction in the rebel's eyes.

"Oh you're looking for another shove, are you? I figured you'd be a sucker for punishment."

The sarcasm dripped from every word, and Lexa regretted Clarke's earlier state.

"We have a study session. I can wait outside until it is time, if you would prefer it."

Lexa answered her so matter-of-factly that Clarke couldn't help but believe the peculiar brunette meant the offer. Her candor seemed to calm the enraged blonde, who just stood there, calculating her next move, until an older version of her appeared in the back of the living room. Upon seeing Lexa, the woman hurried to the door, nearly tripping over herself with apologies.

"You must be Lexa. Dear I'm so sorry for everything Clarke said and will be saying to you. I should have been the one greeting you, I'm really sorry. Please know that Clarke's father and I are doing everything in our power to get her on board. I'm glad to see you here though! She might have led us to believe that you were equally as… reticent as she is about this."

Hers was the sweetest, most soothing voice Lexa had ever heard; save for an entrancing soprano that her father used to listen to when she was a child. She couldn't believe someone wouldn't want to do as this woman said. She looked at Clarke in disbelief.

Right on cue, the belligerent blonde responded to the unanswered question—she was still good at reading Lexa's thoughts; that was nice.

"Lexa, this overeager infuriating woman before you is my mom. Mom, this is the mute girl I told you about."

"Clarke! Honey, please don't be like this. You're not fooling anyone with your rebellious teen act. Lexa, hello! I'm Abby. Clarke has told me a lot about you; mostly good things! So don't let her get to you alright? She'll say anything to get out of studying, she's an _artist._ "

Abby emphasized the last word in an over dramatic way, using air quotes, but it was all in good fun, since she then tousled Clarke's perfect hair—the strands weathered the intrusion and stayed as triumphant as ever—gave her a kiss on the cheek and gestured for Lexa to come in as she herself was exiting the room.

Clarke stuck her tongue out in response, but seemed less agitated. She mirrored her mother's gesture, albeit less excitedly, and when Lexa still didn't move, she glared at her and said:

"You're not planning on making a run for it, are you? It's too late now; you've met the parents! Well the one in charge at least. So I guess we're stuck with each other. You better come in before I close the door in your face. I would like to reserve that honor for when it would mean something. You see, I exact vengeance at the worst possible time."

Lexa didn't know if Clarke wanted to sound threatening, because she found her charming and had to actively refrain her lips from pulling up into a smile. She nodded and followed the blonde inside.

They passed the living room, the kitchen—where Abby was making rattling noises, surely preparing a feast for the visitor—then Clarke started climbing stairs, which alarmed Lexa. She was still getting used to the idea of being around the unattainable girl, she wasn't sure she could handle being _alone_ with her, in what Lexa could only guess was her bedroom. She froze midway through the kitchen.

Clarke quickly shouted from the staircase:

"What happened? Did you step on an imaginary cockroach?"

She didn't intend for it to be an insult; she was smiling that wonderful smile from their first meeting, the one that did funny things to Lexa's heart. Lexa was glad the girl still remembered their first interaction. They were off to a good start. She was still congratulating herself on her progress when Clarke's voice brought her back to the moment.

"It's a wonder you can walk anyway, with such tight jeans! Who knew Lexa Woods was a bit of a wild girl!"

She was laughing now, and Lexa didn't know if her hostess was amused by her words, or by the crimson blush she could feel on her own face. _Make that a great start_ , Lexa thought, though she really didn't know why. Looking up at the blonde who was growing impatient, judging by the way she was blowing at her bangs, she got an inkling that she was about to find out.


	10. Chapter 10

Clarke's room could have been out of Lexa's made up world; it looked primitive. Clothes were tossed around, posters were half hung on walls, one of which was only half painted. The wall behind her bed wore a resemblance to caves from the Neolithic era: drawings overlapping, none of which Lexa could figure out; and some paint tossed here and there, along with scribbles of letters that didn't make up any meaningful words. The minimalist, neat freak side of the brunette cried for her to leave the messy alternate universe before she had a panic attack, but Lexa chose to focus on the girl who had just slumped down on her bed and was casually texting on her phone.

Lexa cleared her throat, but got no reaction. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all. But if that was going to be their only interaction, she had to make it count. She had to at least know what brought on the blonde's drastic change in attitude. _I am the Commander. I do not let fear consume me_. Riding the effect her words had on her, Lexa sat down at the foot of the bed and started in a slightly trembling voice:

"Clarke." She took a pause, savoring the word, for it was the first time she had said it out loud. She dragged the "a" and rounded the "r". As a result, the blonde looked up at her inquisitively. Lexa liked the glimmer of interest she saw in Clarke's eyes. She decided she would never pronounce her name any other way. She carried on:

"I know my past behavior hurt you. You tried to be my friend, and I… was not ready for it. However, life must go on, and it is no use to dwell on the past. Now we have the chance to be allies, in our quest to get you to succeed in chemistry class. You have to be reasonable and stop wasting time."

Midway through Lexa's sermon, Clarke had shot up from her bed and was now towering over a still seated brunette, wagging a finger in her face.

"You little recluse! Where do you get off telling me what to do and how to spend my time, you apathetic jerk! I may have felt sorry for you at some point and wanted to give you some semblance of friendship, but that was a long time ago and I'm sure as hell not dwelling on it! I have bigger worries than a conceited snob who can't do something as basic as speak to people, who talks like she was a character on _Game of thrones_ , and who never contracts any of her words! What _is_ up with that anyway? Are you even human? You could be a bot for all I know! You sure have as many feelings as one!"

Tired but satisfied with her rant, Clarke leaned against the wall facing her bed with a look that said "Your move."

So many thoughts quarreled in Lexa's mind; she wasn't used to the assault, and feared she might faint. She tried to clear her mind. She had hurt Clarke. More than she realized. Also, something else was making the blonde suffer. She sobered up, choosing to focus on that single fact instead of the myriad of emotions she was feeling.

"You say you have bigger worries; might I ask what they are? What is troubling you, Clarke? I would like to help if I can."

Once again, Lexa's honesty halted the worked up girl's attack. The brunette could see the fight leave her, and she looked small all of a sudden; almost scared. Lexa wanted to wrap her arms around her, tell her it was going to be all right. But all she ever knew were awkward hugs given to family members on special occasions, so she thought better of it. Clarke sucked in a breath and sunk down to the floor. Lexa was next to her instantly, both of them staring at the bizarre mural they were now facing. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Just as Lexa was getting up to leave, not wanting to intrude on the troubled girl any longer, Clarke spoke up:

"My parents want me to apply to med school. They're both doctors, and would like for their only child to carry on the legacy. Only I don't want to. I want to be _an artist_ ; everything my mom hates."

"No one could ever hate you."

The words were out before Lexa could stop them, only this time she had been expecting such a slip up to occur, as it had before in Clarke's presence, so she didn't pay any attention to them and carried on:

"I am expected to become a doctor as well. My mother says our family needs to be elevated, and with my grades and my focus, I was chosen to carry out the task."

Clarke looked at her with a mixture of awe and incredulity.

"How can you be so calm about this? It's not the Middle Ages, other people don't get to choose our destiny for us or dictate our future. We are our own women!"

Lexa remained unmoved by Clarke's motivational speech.

"We are who we are. The world is as it is. Taking charge means learning to make sacrifices."

"OK, Osho, got it. You're way too zen and too evolved to be mad at someone for taking away your freedom! Why do I even bother with you!"

Clarke tried to get up, but Lexa met her halfway, grabbing her by the wrist and looking deeply into her eyes.

"Clarke. I am not undermining your feelings. You are entitled to them. I am simply saying that anger will get you nowhere. You say you want to become an artist. Take measures toward that goal, instead of being passive aggressive and sabotaging your future yourself."

Her sky princess must not have expected her guest to be so wise, because she was currently looking at her like she had grown an extra head. Lexa gave her the smallest of smiles, bowing her head in the process, too shy to hold Clarke's stare. They both sat back down simultaneously, and silence reigned once more.

"What do you want to do with your life?"

Lexa wasn't expecting Clarke to say anything else, let alone ask her something personal—like she cared.

"I would like to be a writer."

"Because you want to starve and end up homeless?"

"Because it is the only way I have to express myself in the real world. Otherwise, I am afraid I would get pulled into my own imaginary one and would be lost to this one."

Clarke looked more and more surprised. Lexa knew the blonde was trying to lighten the mood with her last comment, but she had promised herself she would wear her heart on her sleeve for Clarke to see, in the hopes that she would deem her worthy of her friendship. She wasn't going to hold anything back. She only hoped her princess wouldn't ask her something she wasn't ready to hear; like how she was all that Lexa could think, write, talk to her imaginary friends about, how badly she wished to know everything about her and tell her all about herself—something she had never wanted to do before. No. Lexa hoped she wouldn't have to confess any of that anytime soon.


	11. Chapter 11

On her way home that Sunday night, Lexa tried—and failed—to wrap her mind around the events of the day. After the confession she so eagerly shared with the blonde, she felt better; about what, she didn't know. She was simply happy to be alive. _Alive_ , and strong; the opposite of what Lexa believed she would feel if she ever let anyone in.

 _I am afraid I would get pulled into my own imaginary world_. Lexa hadn't discussed the thought that had been plaguing her most of her life with anyone; not even Indra—sure, she trusted her confidante, but the fictional friend was in no position to understand. How she could bring herself to say it out loud, to Clarke of all people, the most down-to-earth person she knew, was beyond her. She didn't regret it though. It was the best sentence she had ever spoken; it opened the floodgates of her long-held-prisoner inner world.

After that admission, Clarke had scooted imperceptibly closer to her, but Lexa perceived it because she could feel the blonde's body heat reverberating on her, in her. Her eyes were gentler than usual and Lexa felt her empathy cover her like a warm blanket. Then Clarke had jokingly asked her if she was "bananas", and Lexa had shaken her head and proceeded to tell her about her imaginary kingdom, its people, and her duties as queen. Clarke hadn't seemed put off by the explanation; yet she couldn't fathom why anyone would choose to interact with made-up beings instead of living ones. However, she found the whole concept entertaining, judging by the hearty laugh she let out at the end of Lexa's expose. It was the sound of thousands of gravels cascading down a flight of stairs, and it made the brunette's heart grow three sizes. In that instant, Lexa sensed they were "having a moment", like the ones she heard people shared with their soulmate. Was Clarke the mate her soul had long been awaiting?

The perplexed girl hadn't had time to process the revelation before Abby burst in with more food than their stomachs could handle, especially now that the girls were satiated with intimacy. Soon after, Clarke's father—Jake—had joined in and they were all having some type of gathering in the blonde's room. Clarke's parents were delightful; their easy banter, their appreciative glances, their inside jokes, their synchronicity made Lexa question the moment of intimacy she had just experienced with her sky princess. _This is love_ , Lexa had thought. _It is nothing like weakness._

Over lunch, conversation had flowed naturally, though Lexa didn't partake in it much; each of her interventions had elicited either a laugh or an eye roll from Clarke, and she couldn't figure out if the blonde was irritated or amused. They didn't have any direct exchange, Clarke's parents being used as buffers. Lexa didn't mind, especially since she feared her classmate would out her secret the first chance she got. However, no mention was made of her overactive imagination, not during dessert when Abby asked her if she owned any pets; not during their impromptu game of Pictionary when Jake joked that Lexa's sketching lacked creativity. Lunch had turned into dinner and the brunette was starting to believe her unpredictable hostess was going to keep her secret. She could trust her with her most private, unspeakable thoughts; that didn't feel like weakness either.

Lexa was questioning everything she ever believed. She needed to be alone with her thoughts. She was starting to feel overwhelmed. Once more, Clarke seemed to just know; they were in tune. So she gave her visitor the right excuse to leave, told her she was feeling tired and that she should be on her way. Lexa had left soon after that; but not before helping Abby clean up, and setting up a tutoring schedule with her. She was going to see Clarke six times a week. Abby had sugarcoated it, promising baked goods and the best lemonade in a tri-state area—she was really desperate for her daughter to pass the class. Lexa didn't need convincing; she was okay with that decision.

The encounter had ended like it began; at Clarke's door. Only with a much less infuriated blonde and a much more flustered brunette. "Today was nice," her pupil had said. Lexa had wanted to leave it at that, but she couldn't get her feet to walk away. They must have known there was still something to transpire, because a few seconds later Clarke had leaned over and put the ghost of a kiss on Lexa's right cheek. Then the blonde was gone and Lexa wasn't sure if she had fantasized the whole thing. It was the first time she regretted having an imaginary world that robbed her of the certainty of that kiss.

That didn't prevent said unconfirmed kiss from having quite the impact on her. Even an hour later, as Lexa was stepping into her house, she could still feel the flush where Clarke's lips had landed and the sparks they had elicited. She wished the owner of those lips were with her now, tilting them up or pursing them or making them disappear into the brightest grin. She wished she could talk to her; write to her, to tell her what was going through her mind and in her heart. _Who says I can't?_ The light bulb going on over her head guided her all the way to her room, where she sat at her desk, took out a pen and paper, and started writing.


	12. Chapter 12

Clarke,

I will not start this letter with an adjective. I will not waste your time with polite expressions and well wishes. I will state the purpose of my writing: today has been a unique experience. I do not use that word lightly, for most of my life has been uneventful. In a sea of common days, the one I just spent with you and your family will stand out for as long as I live. Thus, I would like to thank you. I know you were reluctant to give me another chance. I do not know how to be your friend. But I would like to learn, if you would be willing to teach me. We could call it quid pro quo: I help you with chemistry and you help me with you.

I would also like to thank you for not thinking me crazy (though you did call me that) when I told you about Anya and the others. I never planned on telling anyone aside from my grandmother. However, I do not regret telling you. Now that I know you will not judge me, I think I will be telling you more about me. If you wish for me to do so, that is.

I have kept your attention long enough. I hope I was able to convey my gratitude, and that this letter will not cause you any discomfort.

I wish you well,

Lexa

As soon as she was done, after what seemed like an eternity, but only amounted to a dozen minutes of writing, Lexa quickly but carefully folded the piece of paper, not wanting to read her own letter and change her mind about sending it. She took out a plain white envelop from her desk drawer, wrote "Clarke" on one side, licked and closed it like she had seen her grandmother do—she herself had never sent out a letter before. Then a physically and emotionally exhausted Lexa glanced back at the clock; it was almost 8 p. m. She couldn't go back out, couldn't ride the bus by herself to a foreign neighborhood, couldn't risk getting caught by her grandmother. When Lexa came out of her thoughts, she found herself at the bus stop. All that was left was for her to take the next bus back to the house she had visited earlier that day to deposit her heart in the form of a letter in her sky princess's mailbox.

An hour later, Lexa was riding the bus back home, her heart still beating against her rib cage as if trying to get out and find residence next to Clarke's, her limbs still shaking from the commando-like mission she had carried out from the bus station to Clarke's front porch. The important thing was that the blonde would wake up to her letter, and—dare she hope—even maybe reply to it? Probably not though, Clarke was a busy girl, and while she was all for talking, Lexa suspected her classmate wasn't one for introspection and writing about feelings—not that Lexa was like that! She simply wrote a thank you note, like her grandmother had taught her to do whenever she would receive money from family members, and that one time in seventh grade when the next-door neighbors' eldest son had walked her home from school after she got pushed extra hard by her usual bullies. Lexa was being polite; nothing more. She went to bed still trying to convince herself of that, and woke up even more dubious about her actions. _Maybe I should have left well enough alone_ , was her first waking thought. She dragged her feet to the kitchen where her grandmother had gotten to the mail opening part of her daily routine. As soon as she saw the still sleepy and grumpier than usual girl, the woman greeted her in an uncommonly jovial tone:

"Lexa! You've got mail!"

Lexa promptly turned around at that, walking back to her room.

"Where are you going, silly girl? Didn't you hear what I just said? Come pick up this lovely scented envelop with your name on it!"

"I am dreaming, grandmother. I better get back to bed and wait for the alarm to wake me up."

The older woman knew better than to think her granddaughter was joking. Her previous excitement was long forgotten; the girl walking away from her might be getting letters now, a clear sign of her interaction with actual living people, but she was obviously not ready to deal with these interactions. She had gotten her hopes up for nothing, and that angered her.

"Alexandria Woods. If you don't get back here right this second and pick up your mail, I will ground you until graduation. You will be bound to your room. No walking Louie, no writing by the lake, no tutoring."

Lexa had been focusing on that god-awful name her grandmother had called her—she didn't go by that name anymore—up until she heard the word "tutoring", which instantly calmed her down. She changed directions once more, walked up to her grandmother who was giving her an odd look; was she _amused_? The mere mention of Clarke or anything related to her always seemed to soften the otherwise stern woman. Lexa understood; the blonde had the same effect on her. She snatched the letter from hands that were eager to give it away anyway and hurried back to her room.

She all but tore the envelop open, her eyes searching for a name. There was none, so she started reading.

 _Dear_ Lexa,

I tried writing the adjective in italics to emphasize it, I hope it shows! I was never good with curves. (Some artist I am!) I'm not that great with written words either; both reading and writing them. But I liked reading your letter; if you can call it that. It actually felt more like a maintenance report, but I know you have a hard time expressing yourself, so it was great to see you try. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'd like for us to be friends too; though I don't know about teaching you the art of friendship, because I'm not sure I have it figured out yet. You probably don't know this, but I have trouble keeping friends. Both Bellamy and Raven are currently not speaking to me… But that's neither here nor there; I'm babbling. Who knew I did that in writing too!

So, to sum up, yes to friendship, but in a non-mentoring way. And I was thinking, since you seem more comfortable writing than talking, maybe you want to keep writing me letters? I'm sure you know about a little thing called IM, but would rather have a less direct way of communicating that would give you more time to put your thoughts into words. I have no problem with that. Get to the point, Clarke. What I'm saying is, I wouldn't mind receiving more letters from you. We wouldn't even have to discuss them. The pen pals can be separate from the study buddies. This sounds weird, but I'm sure you get it. After all, you have a whole universe in your mind! (Not judging, just saying, your brain can assimilate us being two different entities.)

I would have to ask for one thing though: use less full stops, it's unnerving! And it wouldn't kill you to crack a joke. Try loosening up a bit, it's only words. And words are all I have, to take your heart away.

May we meet again.

Lexa released the breath she had been holding since she started reading. Her mind was still reeling, and her heart was still racing from the last sentence that she thought for a second was the blonde expressing affection toward her, before realizing she was repeating the lyrics to the famous Bee Gees song. Lexa used to think she was the only one with an old-fashioned taste in music; maybe she and Clarke had more in common than she thought.

She had barely regained her composure—by forcing herself to think about her upcoming biology test rather than the too-intense-to-feel emotions the letter had sparked within her, when it hit her: the letter was in her mailbox this morning. Clarke must have put it there during the night! The girl who had told her earlier that evening that she was tired and would turn in early, had taken the time to read Lexa's letter, write an answer, sprinkle perfume on the envelop, then deliver the letter. Which meant she had to have gone out of her house sometime close to midnight. Lexa didn't know what to make of this. Her sensible side knew she shouldn't read too much into it; the blonde was probably bored, wanted to give her parents a good scare, maybe even got a last minute invitation to a party and dropped the letter off on her way so as to get the errand out of the way. There was no way Clarke could have gone through actual trouble and risked even more trouble if she were to get caught, just to make sure Lexa would be reading the reply first thing in the morning. Nothing in her life so far had prepared Lexa for such a display of affection. Hence, it couldn't be true. She wouldn't give it much thought anymore. Furthermore, she wouldn't answer as promptly. She might even not answer at all. She intended for her note to be an olive branch, effectively sealing their newfound truce; she wasn't sure she was ready for more. In any case, she was going to have to face her pen pal later that day for their second tutoring session, and for some reason she found herself dreading it. _What have I gotten myself into_ , she thought, before putting the letter away in the locked drawer where she kept her manuscripts, and getting ready for what was shaping up to be a long day.


	13. Chapter 13

Clarke's capacity to switch from the nicest to the bitchiest in the blink of an eye was phenomenal; Lexa couldn't wrap her mind around it. True, the brunette had ignored her classmate for the better part of the day, not returning Clarke's smile by the lockers, not answering her "how are you" outside class, even disregarding a piece of paper the reckless girl had thrown at her in class. By the time they sat down at the library for their chemistry lesson, Clarke had gotten the message: the fickle girl had once again given her the brush off. Clarke wasn't even mad; she just wanted to get it over with.

"So what are we working on today?"

"Clarke."

"Yes. That's me. I'm right here. I'm _the only one_ here. Why do you feel the need to say my name?"

Lexa didn't know what to make of that question. She didn't dare answer it, for fear of further angering the already fuming blonde. So she looked on wordlessly.

"Never mind. Let's just start the lesson."

Lexa didn't believe her; it was clear that her sky princess wanted to talk.

"Clarke." She didn't pause after the word that time, not giving Clarke time to interject. "I thought the pen pals and the study buddies didn't mix."

"Really, Lexa? Tell that to the girl who has been shutting me out all day, just like old times! Look, the pen pal thing was a mistake. I pushed you too far. You can forget I ever asked you to write. But you don't have to go back to being a shut-in. We made a lot of progress yesterday, don't throw that out the window just because you got scared!"

"I am not scared, Clarke. I simply do not wish to put my personal life on display. I was mistaken to offer something I cannot give."

Clarke was furious now, face flushed and nostrils flaring. She took a couple of steps in Lexa's direction, so close now that her flustered tutor could feel the blonde's breath on her forehead—Clarke had a good few inches on Lexa.

"And why is that?"

Clarke's proximity and her violent demeanor were giving Lexa mixed feelings. She was starting to wonder why she was acting this way toward the other girl, when she was the one who sought her out in the first place. The least she could do was answer her question honestly.

"Because sharing thoughts and emotions leads to attachment. I cannot allow that to happen. Getting attached is a sign of weakness. I am not weak."

Lexa tried to look proud, but Clarke didn't notice; she was too busy preparing the perfect retort, one that would show the emotionally unavailable girl the error of her ways. After a few seconds of racking her blank brain, she thought of a better idea. "Screw this," she mumbled to herself—though the girl timidly and longingly staring at her did hear it. And before she knew what was happening, Lexa was being wrapped in what she could only describe as salvation. Tender yet strong arms held her against a soft body, with a mold to the side that fit her forehead perfectly. If only the Commander—she needed to remind herself of her self-given title, and the glory it holds— could let herself surrender to the moment… It was like Clarke was hugging a branch caught in a storm: Lexa's body was stiff and slightly shaking. Clarke had to remove the scared girl's hands from her own back pockets and put them around her waste. _Am I actually teaching her how to hug? Has she never done this before?_ The thought felt inconceivable to the blonde, used as she was to physical contact, whether platonic or sexual, meant to comfort, to appreciate, to alleviate or arouse. _Is Lexa even capable of feeling arousal? Has she ever even kissed someone?_

Clarke didn't let herself go there. She couldn't be thinking about her classmate's lips and how they should be kissed, while said classmate was resisting a mere embrace. It's not as if Clarke wanted to kiss Nell—she had watched the movie Lexa's grandmother mentioned on their stormy day, and could see the resemblance. Clarke liked boys; though she was aware girls could like girls as well. She had tried kissing Raven once; it had ended in a fit of laughter that left their stomachs in cramps. She always found her emo friend Octavia attractive, in a scary way—the girl was intense—but never felt compelled to act on it. Unlike the way she was feeling right that instant, with Lexa's trembling body pressed up against hers and Lexa's breath caressing the back of her neck.

 _Stop acting silly_ , Clarke chastised herself. _It's all about you not being able to handle rejection. She doesn't want to hug you, so now you think you want her?_ Clarke always knew how to talk herself down. She inherited her psychoanalyzing skills from her father—he was a psychiatrist after all—and today she was thankful for them. She wasn't attracted to the girl who will probably never be her friend, she only wanted to win her over because she wasn't used to losing. Blame it on competitive parents who always expected her to come out on top. Having eased her own mind, Clarke let herself enjoy the one-sided hug, knowing full well there wouldn't be any others anytime soon.

Lexa on the other hand wasn't at ease. Both her mind and her body were all over the place. Yet they were both fixated on the uncomfortable hug currently taking place. It was awkward, and unsettling, and not at all like Lexa had pictured it over and over again in her fantasies. She hoped there would others sometime soon.


	14. Chapter 14

Tuesday was a tutoring-free day; which was fine by Lexa. Her and Clarke's last session hadn't exactly ended on the best of terms: a hyperventilating brunette had made a run for it as soon as the grip of soothing hands had released her body. In hindsight, maybe she should have at least come up with an excuse for retreating—it felt like something old Lexa would do, to simply leave without a word—yet she was sure she couldn't have conjured up any at that moment. Even a day later, she still had no idea what she could have said, or what she should say now. Suffice to say, they hadn't spoken since what Lexa dubbed as "the new incident"—she hoped she wasn't going to make a habit of them—but the repentant girl knew her classmate well enough to know no words could help at that point. She would have to suck it up and go on with her life, hoping one day the blonde would forgive her, and that the fire that had been roaring in the pit of her stomach for the past day would die down eventually.

On Wednesday, Clarke walked right past her on her way to chemistry class. She didn't even shove Lexa or throw her one of her "drop dead" glares, which worried her tutor beyond measure. Was Clarke really done with her this time? She spent the class replaying all of their encounters: she was two Lexas at once; the old one who didn't know any better and antagonized her sky princess at every turn; and the new and improved one who would push the old ignorant version aside and correct each of her mistakes. If only she could rewrite history the same way.

"Well you can't." It was the first time Anya had talked to her in weeks. "You made your debut in the real world, knowing its rules and regulations. You might not have thought it would be this hard, but guess what? It's hard on everyone. So either you fully transition into this new Lexa you're so proud of, or you go back to the safety of your kingdom."

Anya was right; her kingdom was safe. It was predictable and monotonous; everything Lexa valued. However, it didn't have heavenly creatures who challenged her and gave her transcendental hugs and magically got her to open up; maybe it was time for the Commander to retire. The bell pulled her out of her serious thoughts. Classes were over for the day. Clarke was supposed to head to the library for their session. Lexa felt herself go after her, through no effort of her own. She was having an out-of-body experience. She stealthily followed Clarke, until it was clear that her pupil was leaving the premises. Lexa was suddenly running past Clarke, past the main gate, to the bus stop. Once there, she took a moment to catch her breath, then slowly started walking back toward the school. A few meters ahead, she spotted the blonde heading her way. She locked eyes with her, determination flashing in hers while Clarke's showed nothing but confusion—with a hint of anger.

Lexa still wasn't fully aware of what she was doing. The last time her body had betrayed her suddenly flashed in her mind: her father was drawing a gun at her mother and a much younger Lexa, and the child couldn't refrain from wetting herself. The memory shook her to the core, but she was still walking; it was too late to back down now. It took her mere seconds to reach Clarke, and close her arms around her classmate who resisted for a moment before relaxing into the hug. Lexa was squeezing way too hard and had positioned her arms very awkwardly; somewhere between Clarke's shoulders and hips. The desperate hugger could feel herself sweating, her heart beating twice as fast as Clarke's—so close to hers that the recipient of her embrace was surely feeling it as well. She couldn't bring herself to relax and savor the moment. But for once, she was certain it wouldn't be their last moment of intimacy. So instead of beating herself up over her lack of hugging skills, she vowed to better them for the future physical displays of affection she was going to share with the precious girl in her arms.

"Lexa," Clarke cried out in a strangled voice. "You're sorta suffocating me."

There was amusement and tenderness in her tone; yet Lexa immediately felt mortified. She pulled back and started mumbling "I'm sorry" when the blonde put her right index to the brunette's lips.

"I didn't say stop hugging me. Maybe just don't hug me like you want to grind my bones and feed them to Louie. Gosh you're such an extremist! Get back here."

"And you have a more vivid imagination than mine; you're just better at hiding it," said a much less embarrassed Lexa, diving back into Clarke's arms.

"Well maybe if you're good, and don't revert back to being a bot, I'll teach you how to get a better handle on yours!"

"How about for now, I teach you chemistry?"

Clarke rolled her eyes, grabbed Lexa's hand and made her way to the library, where the two girls spent the afternoon mostly studying, yet still sneaking in small smiles and appreciative glances here and there.

Before they parted ways, Clarke summed up their situation so accurately that Lexa couldn't help but emit a small guttural sound that she guessed was laughter.

"It's only our second session, and you've already broken up with me twice. At this rate we'll be divorced by graduation!"

 _We would have to get married first_ , Lexa thought, surprisingly excited at the idea. But she didn't dare say it out loud. She sensed it wouldn't sound as funny as Clarke's observation; maybe because the prospect of marrying her sky princess didn't seem funny to Lexa—far from it. It seemed _right_. The thought terrified her, much like Clarke's letter had. However, this time, she pushed the feeling aside, gave Clarke a brief peck on the cheek, and wished her a pleasant evening.

"May we meet again," whispered Clarke, bringing her hand up to touch her cheek where Lexa's breath still lingered. For reasons unknown, she was scared; more than she would care to admit. Still, for the first time, she believed what her friends had been saying: the elusive girl _liked_ her. Clarke grinned all the way back home.


	15. Chapter 15

The following Sunday, Lexa was lying in bed, bathing in the sun coming through her window, listening to birds chirp and church bells ring—she knew there was no church near enough to make such sounds, so she figured it was all the effect of having Clarke in her life.

Lexa was an early bird; though she loved simmering in her cogitations, she never did so in bed, which she never left later than at sunrise. It was then understandable for her grandmother to come barging in, her voice tainted with worry, asking her granddaughter why she was sleeping when it was almost noon. Lexa couldn't tell the emotionally disengaged woman she had spent the morning revisiting her recent encounters with Clarke. Her grandmother enjoyed watching lovesick teenagers on television, but Lexa doubted she would appreciate her valedictorian granddaughter wasting what was left of her senior year on fantasies. The brunette simply smiled at her grandmother's inquiries instead, then got out of bed and into the bathroom, humming. The older woman was really worried now; since when did the reserved girl who she couldn't even get to sing at church hum? That girl was getting weirder every day…

A few hours later, Lexa was sitting by her favorite tree at a nearby park, watching ducks gracefully dance around each other in the lake. She wondered how she had never noticed these ordinary miracles before; it was funny that it took Clarke coming into her life for her to start living it. Her mind drifted back to random but precious conversations they had over the past week, between chemistry notions.

THURSDAY

"Clarke."

"When will you come up with another way to start a conversation?"

"When your name stops being so good to pronounce."

Lexa had meant it as a snappy comeback, so she couldn't help the blush that filled her cheeks when Clarke looked at her with _those eyes_ —like when she held the front door open for her, or when she gave her the last of the cookies her grandmother had baked that day—a look of gratitude mixed with something the brunette had never seen before.

"Who knew the Commander could be a sweet talker!"

"Don't make me regret telling you my title."

Once more, Lexa tried to sound annoyed, but she could feel herself smiling through the statement.

"Forgive me, your majesty. I almost forgot my place. Please don't throw me off your thousand-feet-tall tower, like you did with the Ice Nation ambassador!"

Clarke was openly laughing now; she loved teasing the smaller girl, and she knew Lexa secretly enjoyed their banter as well.

FRIDAY

"Can we not study today? Pleaaaase! I'll do anything. I'll give you a back massage, oh I'm great at those!"

"We can do both."

Lexa hoped her voice didn't betray her eagerness. The blonde hadn't touched her since their last hug, and she needed a fix. She had never sought out physical contact with anyone, except for those few times when she hurriedly explored Costia's body and her own. This was odd; but over the past few days she had become an expert in pushing her frequent impressions that something was off with her behavior aside, and fully enjoying the perks of being Clarke's friend.

She turned her back to her masseuse and assumed a more relaxed seated posture on Clarke's bed-cum-study-table.

"Take off your shirt."

What curse was Lexa plagued with, that she had to blush at least once every time she was around the blonde?

"Don't tell me you're shy. Actually, you probably are. No one has ever seen you in your underwear right? Well, I mean, except for a couple of boys, surely?"

Lexa was turning crimson red; she was sure she would auto-combust any second. She hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

"Lexa! You can't be telling me no boy has gotten that far with you! Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? How could they content themselves with kissing?"

 _This is it._ Lexa thought. _I am going to die from embarrassment on this very bed_.

"No way! You, they, you've never… you've never been kissed?!"

"I never felt the need for it."

"What a Lexa thing to say! This is just… I can't wrap my mind around it! This is scientifically impossible; you can't be telling me an eighteen-year-old girl—an attractive one—has never even kissed a boy! Are you not attracted to them?"

"Of course I am. What does that have to do with anything."

Lexa couldn't remember another time when she had told such a blatant lie. Truth is, she had never thought about boys at all. Hence, she had no idea if she was attracted to them. The only ones she ever frequented were Lincoln and Gustus whom she thought of as older brothers. Then there was that neighbor's kid who sometimes walked her back from school and tried to hold her hand once, but she had swatted it away and run home. Lexa had never experienced attraction; but she wasn't about to tell the queen of flirting that. She would never hear the end of it. So she pushed on.

"I like boys. I enjoy their… abs and their broad shoulders. True, they're hairy, but there are some with soft hair, so that's good. And I'm attracted to how fast they can run."

Clarke could see Lexa's struggle. She was starting to think her tutor had no idea what her real deal was; and she wasn't about to open her eyes for her. _Time will take care of that_ , she thought. She'd let her stammering friend off the hook, for now.

SATURDAY

"Clarke."

"Commander."

"You are not funny. You know that, right?"

As expected, Clarke stuck out her tongue in response. Lexa's conversations with her sky princess were getting more and more delightful, and she lived for moments such as this one: they were both lying on opposite sides of Clarke's bed, with the blonde's feet on the brunette's lap. Lexa cherished this intimate tableau. She could have stayed that way, content to breathe the same air as her friend. However, something was bothering her; and in the spirit of not letting thing fester and shut down again, she decided to talk to the concerned party about it.

"You seemed so shocked by my… physical inexperience yesterday. May I ask what stage I should be at right now? Like, say, how far along have you come, boys wise?"

"Lexa, if you're asking me if I'm a virgin, you don't need to beat around the bush. This isn't 1921. Even my mom knows I'm not."

Lexa had gone through a myriad of emotions in a few seconds—a personal record. All she wanted to know was whether Clarke had kissed boys before; she had no frame of reference for anything else. Her grandmother always made sure she watched PG13—if not G— rated movies and shows, and sex was a distant concept to her: religion taught her it was something people did to procreate; her grandmother taught her it was a gift a wife gave her husband on their wedding night; her lack of interest in the matter taught her that she was asexual. And she had been living her life accordingly, hoping that the day she got married, she would discover that she wasn't frigid. She was like Sleeping Beauty: she just needed the right prince to wake up her senses.

"Lex, are you still with me? I'm sorry if I shocked you… It's perfectly natural, you know? But it's not a requirement either, so it's also fine that you're a virgin! Just please don't freak out on me, ok?"

"Yes, no. You are right. I do not know what I was expecting out of this talk. Let us just get back to studying."

Then a beat later:

"Who was he?"

"Finn. I don't know if you remember him. He was an exchange student; he spent last year at our school. He had cool hair and was always brooding; everything a girl could ask for right? I'm kidding Lexa, jeez! What's with the funeral face? Anyway, it sorta just happened at one of Bellamy and Octavia's secret basement parties. It was… not unpleasant. We only did it that one time though, because, as you so eloquently put it, 'I did not feel the need for it' to happen again."

Clarke winked at her, more playful than usual, but Lexa didn't feel like humoring the blonde. She was mad at her for some reason, and chose to spend their session brooding—after all, it seemed to be a quality Clarke appreciated.


	16. Chapter 16

That Sunday evening, Lexa tossed and turned in bed, sleep eluding her, until she gave up and decided to put on paper the numbers that were haunting her. She printed out a calendar—of course she had a printer in her room, she called it the Twenty-First Century typewriter—and counted: there were ten weeks left before graduation. She would have Clarke all to herself for ten more measly weeks. She was overcome with rage; the likes of which she had only felt whenever her father would threaten her mother, or start breaking things. The sort of indignation that made her almost question the existence of God—but the devout catholic girl could never really do that. She drew in a shaky breath and reminded herself that He worked in mysterious ways. Still, she wanted to maximize her chances; so she got on her knees, clasped her hands together in prayer and asked God for Clarke to be in her life always. She hadn't asked Him for favors since her father finally left, so she hoped He would know how much this meant to her. When she got back up, she felt the familiar relief her faith always brought her; her and Clarke's future was in God's hands, and He wouldn't allow for such a beautiful friendship to end—at least not when it was only starting to blossom.

By Wednesday, the girls had fallen into such a comfortable routine that Lexa started to forget what it was like to be without her sky princess. They had also grown closer physically, much to the brunette's excitement. They had deserted the library for good, dividing their afternoons between each of their bedrooms. That day, it was Clarke's turn. Lexa didn't like Clarke's bed; it was way too big. The blonde claimed she rolled around in her sleep and needed all the space she could get. Lexa didn't doubt her feistiness, even in slumber, but she would have preferred for Clarke's mattress to be as small as hers. Whenever they were back at her place, Clarke would either sit with her back against Lexa's, which felt heavenly, or lie down with her head in her tutor's lap, so the latter could stroke satiny golden strands to her heart's desire. However, they were now in Clarke's room, sitting side by side, legs entwined and arms almost touching; that wasn't bad either. On such days, Lexa would make up for the lack of physical contact with insightful conversations.

"Clarke."

"Commander."

Lexa didn't even bother rolling her eyes anymore; it would only spur the blonde on.

"Why are Bellamy and Raven not talking to you?"

"Because they're stupid."

"Alright. Now for the adult version of that answer."

"It's not something I wanna discuss with you."

"Why not."

"You know it pisses me off when you say your questions like they're statements."

"And you know it upsets me when you use informal language; it is crass. Now stop avoiding the question."

"Ugh, you're infuriating! Fine. Suit yourself. They're not talking to me because I hooked with Bellamy even though I knew Raven liked him. There. Can we go back to studying now?"

Lexa straightened her back. She tried to keep her features under control, but they tightened noticeably, and though she nodded her approval, Clarke couldn't let it go now.

"You're mad. You're judging me, just like I knew you would! Some of us have a libido and it makes them do stupid things! But I wouldn't expect Saint Lexa to understand."

Lexa gritted her teeth. "I told you not to call me that. Do not mock my beliefs, Clarke. There is a limit to my tolerance."

Clarke let out a laugh that hurt Lexa's ears with its aggression. "Your tolerance? Some tolerant girl you are, sitting on your high horse, silently calling me a whore!"

Before she could stop herself, Lexa was up and screaming: "Shof op!"

Clarke followed suit, getting closer to the worked up brunette with each sentence: "Your silly made up words don't intimidate me, Lexa. You think you're so much better than me with your imaginary world and your lack of empathy. You're sick, is what you are. You convince yourself that by not experiencing life, you avoid getting hurt. But what's the point, Lexa? How long do you think your kingdom will keep you safe from the world? How long will your grandmother take care of you? How long will the rest of us humor you? Wake up, Commander! If you started living your own life for a change, you wouldn't be so judgmental about how others live theirs."

Clarke was in Lexa's personal space, heaving. Meanwhile, Lexa had absorbed the furious blonde's words; as they sank in, the fight was leaving her, and all she wanted to do was hold her friend. There was still a nagging voice though, telling her that Clarke had "hooked up" with Bellamy—she didn't know the exact meaning of the word, but she knew it was bad—and maybe still was. The possibility hurt her much more than the insults her hostess had just finished throwing at her. Not knowing what to do with herself, she waited for Clarke's next move; would she spit in her face, shove her, kick her out? After a few seconds of silence, Lexa looked up from the floor and into blue orbs of sadness. Clarke was hurting; and here she had promised herself never to cause her sky princess pain again! Lexa conjured up the most repentant look she had, begging her friend to understand what she herself couldn't quite fathom yet. Lexa's eyes told Clarke of her unwavering affection for her, of her admiration for her courage to live her life and make mistakes and come out a better and stronger person. Clarke seemed to soften under Lexa's loving gaze. The brunette saw her lean forward, blink an inordinate amount of times, breathe very heavily then back away from her like she got electrocuted.

Lexa had no idea what just happened, but she knew Clarke well enough to know she was currently a mess. So she did the only thing she was good at: she bowed her head and exited the room, leaving behind a devastated blonde who was hoping her friend's cluelessness would rescue her from the aftermath of the disastrous event that almost took place.


	17. Chapter 17

_Clarke,_

 _I find myself writing to you once more, for as you said, I express myself better in written words. After what transpired between us earlier today, there are a few points that need elucidating. I will not apologize for the way I reacted, or your interpretation of my reaction. It is true, I did feel funny the moment you confessed that you had "hooked up" with Bellamy. It was an odd feeling, akin to dismay, and it took me by surprise as well. However, it was not because I thought ill of you. I am in no way the keeper of your virtue. I rather admire your freedom to fulfill your physical wants without any of the guilt and self-awareness that have been instilled into me. The reason of my unease was the fact that you were close with someone else in a way beyond my reach. I resented Bellamy, like Finn, for having a part of you that is inaccessible to me. I am an only child. Hence, I am used to getting all of everything. It is new and unsettling that I only get a part of you; that I have to share you with others. So you see, it is not your way of life that is faulty, but rather my way of thinking. I am but a possessive, jealous friend who should know your life doesn't revolve around her and should grow up. I vow to do my best on both accounts. I hope my candor earns me another chance at friendship with you. I value it. I value you, beyond words._

 _May we meet again,_

 _Lexa_

"Clarke, is this letter for real?"

"No Raven, I came over to your house at 10 p.m. on a school night, risking you flipping me off and throwing me out, just so I can discuss a fake letter!"

"So what you're telling me is, in the few weeks since we've last talked, you became BFFs with 'cat got your tongue' Lexa, got her to fall for you and are now exchanging love letters with her?"

"No, what I'm telling you is Lexa and I are study buddies. I don't know if I'd call us friends; we're too different. And we've never done anything outside our tutoring sessions. That and I'm fairly certain Lexa _likes_ me."

"Do you _like_ her?"

"That's… complicated."

"Meaning?"

"I might have almost kissed her today."

Raven smiled for the first time since she had received a weird text from her "friend on hiatus" asking her to let her in through the kitchen entrance. She had planned on giving the blonde the talking to she had coming, but when she saw the panicked look on the usually cool girl, she forgot all about silly boy troubles, only wanting to be there for her childhood friend. The turn the events have taken since transformed her worried state into an intrigued and amused one.

"So you do like her! I didn't know you liked girls!"

"Neither did I! I still don't. It's not like anything happened. And with Lexa… It's complicated."

"Since when is your life so _complicated_? You've used the word in this conversation more than you've used it your entire life! Uncomplicate it. You might like Lexa. Lexa might like you. Make a move and find out."

Clarke wished things were that simple. But she knew how inexperienced and outright clueless the brunette was in matters of the heart, and she couldn't risk opening her eyes, for fear of her shutting down for good. Questioning her sexual orientation wasn't something Lexa was equipped or ready to deal with; Clarke was sure of it. And she cherished her friend's presence in her life too much to lose her over an attempt to unearth her sexuality. So Clarke chose to be selfish; she wouldn't be a stepping stone for Lexa, through which the formerly asexual girl would discover her true identity, only to move on to someone else when she was finally ready to embrace her sexuality. No, Clarke would keep her friend for as long as she could… which wasn't that long anyway.

"I can't. There isn't enough time. You don't know Lexa, she scares easily. And she really has no idea what her underlying feelings are. I'm not about to drop that bomb on her, then turn around and leave her to deal with the aftermath! I haven't even told her I'm leaving yet!"

"Shit! That poor girl doesn't know you're moving to Paris! She's going to be devastated. Judging by this letter, she really feels all the feelings about you!"

"The subject hasn't come up. The day I got my acceptance letter was our first tutoring session. I was still fighting with my parents over it, and I wasn't gonna tell a girl I barely knew about the whole mess. Then when we got closer and I could share that info with her, I didn't dare to. Knowing her, I was sure the news of me leaving the country would get her to pull away from me…"

"And you _like_ her too much to let her do that!"

Raven was teasing her, which was a sign that they were getting back to who they were before the whole Bellamy debacle. Yet there was truth to what she was saying. Clarke wasn't about to admit that though, so she chose to change the subject.

"This feels nice. Raven and Clarke, just goofing around. Can we pinky promise right here and now never to let stupid boys come between us? Especially ones who aren't worth it!"

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?"

"Trust me: Bellamy, uses paintball guns better than his own tongue. Just saying; you dodged a bullet there!"

"Aw! And you took one for the team! Come here!"

Clarke dove into safe arms she had deeply missed, especially since green eyes started haunting her in a way she couldn't figure out; whose absence created a need to be constantly comforted. She was glad her and Raven were back on track, because she was surely going to need her best friend's "no bull" attitude to navigate the uncharted territory that is Lexa.


	18. Chapter 18

At 00:03 a.m. that night, Lexa woke up to the sound of her cell phone beeping; she never bothered to put it on silent because it never rang, let alone at night. She groggily made her way to her desk and blinked a large number of times at the message she had just received from an unknown number:

 _Im ur front door. Open up._

Lexa felt like she was sleepwalking. Without a second thought, she made her way to the door, dragging her feet like a zombie; she always needed a few dozen minutes before fully waking up, especially when she had been jolted awake by a foreign sound. When she came face to face with the girl she had just been dreaming about, Lexa still couldn't distinguish reality from illusion, so she remained quiet, hoping the vision of beauty would give her some sort of sign about the realm she was in. She didn't have to wait long. Clarke clearly had something to say. She drew a staggering breath and whispered her monologue so fast that Lexa's half-awake mind couldn't fully register it.

"So I got your letter. And I get you. I don't want you to apologize. The only reason I was so upset in the first place was because I couldn't bear to think that you believed I had loose morals. I don't even condone that expression, and the judgment behind it, yet when it comes to you, I don't want it to be true. I care what you think about me and I don't want to taint the image you have of me. I want you to keep looking at me the way you do; with wonder and awe and reverence and lus… lushness. That doesn't even make sense, but I don't care. I never want you to think less of me, or look at me differently. Which is why I didn't tell you. I'm so sorry; I know you won't believe me but I am. The last thing I wanted was to keep this from you. I'm sorry I'm leaving. I'm sorry I I wasn't honest about it. I just wanted us to live in the present, and knowing you, you would've overanalyzed everything and put up walls and wasted time protecting yourself, when there is none to waste. I'm sorry for telling you this way, but we only have a few weeks left, and I want us to make the best of them. Heck I even bought a calendar on which to cross out each day until graduation, so that I know how much time I still have with you. Please don't be mad. Please just hold me?"

Too many feelings, too much information to process, as was often the case around her sky princess. Lexa was suddenly wide awake. Clarke was leaving. Why did that surprise her? Everyone leaves. Or at the very least, everyone left her. Everyone but her grandmother, but death would correct that mistake soon enough. She hadn't had these dark thoughts in a while. Ever since she and Clarke had become friends. However, Clarke was going away; it was then natural that she got reacquainted with her fatalistic side. What was that new sound assaulting her ears though? Clarke was sobbing, her body shaking with each new gasp. Lexa uncrossed the blonde's arms, wrapped them around her waist, before putting her own around her visitor's neck. The embrace was loose, then Clarke tightened her hold, another round of cries threatening to spill out. Lexa, on the other hand, was eerily calm: _If every day is going to be as long and eventful as this one, we are going to have a whole lifetime together before graduation_ , she told herself.

They broke the hug simultaneously, when their limbs became too tired to hold on.

"Say something", pleaded an emotionally raw blonde.

"How did you get my number."

Lexa was never good with feelings. Her robotic side always took over whenever an emotional scene occurred. Her current situation was certainly in the top three most emotionally charged moments she had ever witnessed. Hence, she was her most glacial self yet.

"How did you get to be so insensitive?"

Lexa was sure that Clarke would storm out after her retort, as per usual. Instead, she grabbed her hostess's hand and led her to the bedroom, where she let go of it to take off her shoes and get into bed. Still on autopilot, Lexa followed suit, and they were both fast asleep within minutes.


	19. Chapter 19

Lexa rose from a refreshing sleep filled with dreams of her blonde obsession holding her, stroking her hair and whispering comforting words to lull her to sleep. Then she heard rather loud noises coming from the kitchen, which immediately made her alert, since her grandmother exclusively moved in stealth mode. She followed the sounds that were getting more distinctive the closer she got to their source. There was talking; the older woman's voice, perkier than usual, and another one that pulled at Lexa's heartstrings. Then the nervous brunette heard laughter, her heart sinking as she recognized the symphony that was Clarke's laugh. The previous night hadn't been a dream—a nightmare, if she were to take into account how it began rather than how it ended. Her sky princess really was leaving her.

By the time she was facing her deserter, she had forgotten all about full body hugs, and kisses that had trailed from the crown of her head to her shoulders. So when Clarke greeted her, all smiles and happy to see her, as if they still had a future together, she knew if she stayed a minute longer, she would do something she would regret. Like she did when her parents cornered her in her room, casually informed her they were splitting up, and demanded she choose who she wanted to live with: the insensitive, selfish mother, or the violent, deadbeat father. A much younger Lexa chose to beat her head against the wall until she passed out, after which neither of her parents wanted her anymore. Her grandmother had patched her up, both physically and emotionally, picking up the pieces and nursing the mentally fragile girl back to health. Thankfully, she did the same in that moment, right when Lexa was about to storm out of the house, in her pajamas and slippers, with her uncombed hair running wild.

"Lexa my dear, did you know that today is Clarke's birthday? Thank God I have her on Facebook! When I went in to wake you up this morning and saw her there, I took it as a sign and let you sleep a little while longer—you two looked exhausted anyway, not to mention adorable, all tangled up—so I could make her my famous flourless chocolate cake. You're just in time! Come, let us sing Happy Birthday to your lovely friend!"

Lexa disregarded the fact that her grandmother was gushing over Clarke, who she decided would henceforth be known as "the traitor", and chose not to dwell too much on Clarke's astrological sign—she was an Aries, which didn't surprise Lexa; it was a sign of egotism, megalomania and manipulation. She herself was a Taurus, loyal, steadfast, honest, humble, true. Their signs weren't compatible. Not that it mattered. Not right then; she had bigger fish to fry.

"Grandmother, I am baffled by your choice not to wake me, when you know I have French the first period, and how important that class is for me. I am flabbergasted by how lovingly you are treating a girl you have only really known for a week or two. And I am sorry that I cannot partake in your masquerade. I am going to go change, then go to school, to try and salvage a day that is off to an abysmal start."

"Why change? I'm sure you'd be a huge hit at school in your Garfield jammies, Commander!

Not taking Clarke's obvious bait, Lexa made her way back to her room, unperturbed. But before she could reach for the doorknob, a firm hand grabbed her left shoulder and turned her around so abruptly she almost did a pirouette.

"Look. I know you're mad. I know you're hurting. And confused. And the last thing you want right now is to talk. I respect that. I will leave you alone. But this does in no way mean that I'm giving up on you. I'll let you mull things over for a while. When you're ready—and I hope it's soon—come find me so we can have it out once and for all. I'll be ready and I'll make it better and we can pick up where we left off. We'll get over this, I promise you, or my name isn't sky princess! You might have mentioned the nickname in your sleep. Yes, you talk in your sleep; much more than when you're awake, actually! I'll see you around, Commander."

Clarke said the last word like a prayer, almost a whisper, full of repentance and hope. She was fairly confident that later on, in time, her tutor would calm down and let her explain herself.

"Step into my room. Let us resolve the matter and move on with our lives."

It seemed the confrontation was going to happen sooner than Clarke anticipated; Lexa was still as unpredictable as ever.


	20. Chapter 20

Ever the gentleman, even in such a dreadful situation, Lexa held the door open for the girl she had just invited into her bedroom, even after she had just internally revoked that same girl's access to her heart. Clarke made a beeline for the bed and sat on it cross-legged. Then she noticed that her hostess was still standing stiffly next to the window, looking for a symbolic escape, so she got back up, crossed her hands instead, and went for it.

"So I guess you want me to explain why I'm going and where… I know it feels rushed and I sprung it on you, but it's actually…"

"I command you to stay." Lexa interrupted Clarke's attempt at an explanation as soon as she registered it. She wasn't looking for excuses or practical information; all she wanted was for her friend to stay.

"Lexa…" Clarke's voice was apologetic, with an underlying tone of scolding.

"I realize how this must sound."

"Do you? Because you sound like a little spoiled girl who doesn't wanna let go of her favorite toy!"

"You are not an object. You are not _mine_. I am well aware of that. However, I will not stand here and pretend that I condone this, that I support your decision and that I want to know all about it. I want you to stay. Or I want you out of my life completely. Anything in between would hurt too much."

She had said too much. She knew it as soon as the words came out; she had never felt this weak. Maybe it was a good thing that Clarke was leaving, because she couldn't keep exposing herself this deeply to her sky princess—'the traitor' didn't stick, it lacked the truth that the first nickname held.

"I would like for you to leave now." There was nothing left to say.

"Lexa…"

"Clarke."

"I love you."

Lexa felt sucker punched. She would be lying if she pretended like she hadn't waited months—years—to hear those words from her friend. But just as her heart was soaring, her brain was signaling for it to come down from its high, because the truth remained that…

"You're leaving. Your feelings are moot."

"It doesn't have to be this way. You don't have to be such an extremist! We still have a couple of months together before I travel. We can be long-distance friends; in this day and age, it's almost easier than being live ones! You can visit, and I sure will; I have my whole life here!"

"You are my whole life," said Lexa, matter-of-factly.

"Lexa…" Clarke's tone was now dripping with affection, with a hint of pain.

"I know I am being ridiculous. I cannot help it. It brings me no joy to talk to you about my feelings and ask you to stay, when I know full well that you cannot and will not. But if I refrain from saying these things, I will regret not doing everything in my power to keep you by my side. I haven't known you for that long and I still do not know you that well, yet I already feel that you are a part of me. This will remain true, no matter where you are."

Lexa's facial expression was still non-existent. But her words were more than enough to reassure Clarke, whose features visibly relaxed. Just as she was about to sit back down on the bed though, the brunette spoke up in a formal—even more than usual—voice.

"We must be going now. We missed enough school as it is. And I will not be able to tutor you this afternoon. I apologize."

"Because I'm leaving?" Clarke was growing tired of the emotional rollercoaster Lexa was putting her through. She had never experienced such highs and lows with anyone, friend or otherwise.

"Because I was made aware of something I did not previously know. Have a good day, Clarke _kom skaikru_."

She had made Clarke mad—again. The blonde had left in a huff, without even asking her what she had just called her. For all she knew, her friend had probably thought she was insulting her. However, Lexa didn't have time to indulge in over analysis. She had some shopping to do.

When she heard herself say it out loud to her grandmother—"Grandmother, I must go shopping, could you please write a note to the principal explaining my tardiness?"—she understood the woman's hearty laughter. Lexa never went shopping. Her grandmother did it for her, taking guesses as to what would fit the petite brunette, exchanging whatever didn't. But Lexa didn't offer up any explanation for her unexpected announcement; she simply left, depositing a kiss on her grandmother's cheek on her way—a gesture that surprised both parties.

Lexa was on a mission. She grabbed her bike and pedaled on a familiar road, all the way to her favorite art supply shop; she frequently visited it, inquiring about new brushes, staring at different easel models, trying to guess the correct names of each new shade of paint. Lexa loved everything that had to do with painting, even if she had no talent for it. And though she had no idea if Clarke did, if the blonde even enjoyed painting, she had an inkling this was the right gift to get her. She hoped she wasn't merely projecting her own desires onto her friend, but she decided to trust her gut and get "the artist" a collection of painting utensils. It would cost her all of her savings, coins and bills she had scraped together, the result of years of washing cars and walking dogs—real ones. It would be worth it, just to see the smile on the birthday girl's face.

Pleased with her buy, Lexa dropped the gift off at home, picked up the note from her intrigued grandmother, asked her for one last favor then rushed to school. She had just skipped it for the first time ever, and though, surprisingly, she wasn't feeling bad about it, she didn't want to prolong her absence more than was necessary.


	21. Chapter 21

Clarke came home uncharacteristically early that afternoon, especially considering it was her special day. Her mother heard the door slam and a pair of feet loudly stomp up the stairs, then another door was being shut violently, and Abby was sure Clarke was having boy trouble; she was only ever in such a hysterical state over matters of the heart. Knowing what was waiting for Clarke in her room though, she smiled and thanked the heavens for the strange brunette who was helping her daughter with much more than chemistry.

Clarke only had one wish for this particular birthday: she wanted it to be over. Lexa had been gone during the first two periods that morning; she made it a point to check up on her before the start of each class. Then her tutor appeared, all smiles, and actively ignored her for the rest of the day. Clarke was debating whether to retaliate or just give up on the impossible girl; she opted to leave that decision for later, for another day that wasn't a sucky birthday. She managed to dodge her friends, rebuffed their offer to go out for dinner, thankful that it was a school night and that her party wouldn't be taking place until Saturday; that would hopefully give her enough time to grieve for a friendship that had merely survived a few weeks. But what was she expecting anyway, getting close to an emotional cripple? It was all Clarke's own fault, really. She was better off hanging out with her crowd of normal, shallow, boring teenagers who didn't make her heart skip a beat and didn't challenge her in every way.

As soon as she entered her room, all her depressing thoughts were immediately forgotten. She smelled Lexa's presence—the brunette didn't wear perfume, yet smelled of earth and comfort—before seeing its proof. What lay before her took her breath away: there was a new state of the art 3D easel, a set of brushes of different sizes, tubes of paint in shades she had never seen before; a painter's paradise.

How did she know? The question was playing in Clarke's head on a loop. Her atelier was secretly located in the garage; there was no way Lexa could have seen it. Her mom surely didn't mention it, if only because it wasn't her favorite topic of discussion. Her friend could have guessed her penchant for drawing by her bedroom wall decorations, but they were so badly done—she had drawn them when she was seven—that, if anything, that should have discouraged Lexa from getting her anything remotely artistic. True, Clarke had mentioned wanting to become "an artist", but if she were to venture a guess, she would say that Lexa took it to mean she wanted to become an actress or a singer; something that suited her social butterfly status.

Running her hands over the material repeatedly, Clarke decided she shouldn't try to understand. The whole thing was so Lexa: thoughtful and caring in a unexpected way, appropriate yet personal, discrete, yet so over the top it made the blonde tear up. She needed to lie down. However, Lexa was apparently not done with her; there was an envelop with a familiar handwriting of Clarke's name on it, and she felt like jumping in excitement, but was feeling faint from all the emotions, so she sat down on the bed instead and ripped the envelop open. There was a small white card, on which Lexa had written:

Clarke,

These words are in your honor. This is what you helped me do. I am pleased that you were born. That you came into my life. You have changed it, for good. No matter what happens, be sure that I will love you for it, always.

Not giving herself time to digest what she had read, Clarke was already unfolding a bigger paper on which her friend had chosen to type rather than write. It was… a story? It had a title, so Clarke dug in.

 **OF DEMON SLAYING**

You thought you had gotten rid of me. But I'm back with a vengeance… I am in you. I am you. You can never annihilate me. You're not strong enough. You never were. And you don't stand a chance of getting better, being good enough to defeat me. I am everywhere; I taint every breath you take, I poison every touch you feel, I disrupt any semblance of peace you are brought. You can't sweep me under the rug, you can't lock me away in the donjon of your repressed thoughts. There's no use trying to blow me up, drown or incinerate me; you'd only be hurting yourself. What you need to do, your only option is to embrace me. Become one with me. Alone you are no one. You are worthless, vile, the mere shadow of who you should be. Together we are whole. We are unstoppable. I am your destiny. I'm all you've got. Surrender to me. Don't try to break free of my hold, you won't succeed. You are weak. You are nothing. Just let go. Let me in. Stop fighting. You won't win. I am all-powerful. I am. You can't ever stop me from being. You can't ev…

In one swift movement, she drove her fist into the mirror. It shattered into countless sparkling little pieces, flicks of silver and shiny diamonds, reflecting the colors of the rainbow. Smiling gently, she stepped on them, barefoot, taking her time, letting her feet sink into the remnants of the corpse. She walked away—unharmed.

Clarke's brain was now in overdrive. She was laughing and crying and hyperventilating all at once. What did she expect? Fluffy words and flowery feelings and rhymes? What she held in her hands was the essence of Lexa; something broken, and dark, yet so beautiful it hurt. The damaged girl was letting her in, she was telling her of her struggles, her inner battles, her long hidden suffering. Even better, the girl was telling her that she was helping her defeat her demons. What better gift could she have gotten? She could think of none; of anything really, other than a strong brunette who deserved so much and was getting so little. Clarke felt the injustice in her bones; she couldn't let it go on, she had to do something about it. From that moment on, she would make her friend's happiness her responsibility—her purpose, for in that instant, Clarke couldn't think of a higher one. Lexa deserved to know what it was like to be loved, and Clarke was going to be the one to show her. She dried her tears, fixed herself up in the mirror, then left as hurriedly as she had come in—but much, much lighter.


	22. Chapter 22

When Abby heard the front door close in an almost too gentle way, she glanced at the clock: it was ten past eight. Jake had been called in for an emergency; he couldn't be home that early. And it was too late for Clarke to be going out on a school night. She put down the knife she was using to chop the ingredients she was going to turn into a salad, and quickly made her way outside. Clarke was walking purposefully toward what she would guess was the bus stop. Abby hated shouting, but she hadn't grabbed her cell phone on the way out, and would never be able to catch her athletic daughter, so she yelled out her name, once, twice, three times, before Clarke finally reacted: she stopped power walking, turned in her mom's direction and waved around as if to say "Give me a break." Abby gestured for her to come back to the house, and when they were facing each other, the doctor wasted no time in starting her inquisition.

"Just where do you think you're sneaking off to, young lady?"

Clarke rolled her eyes, but didn't play into her mother's beloved game—that the playful woman called "the parenthood police"—any further; she was rather in a hurry to get to Lexa's and scoop her favorite person up in her arms… maybe more, if she mustered up enough courage to go where she hadn't dared to before. Abby on the other hand had nowhere to be, so she insisted:

"I thought you were done with that bad boy wannabe you call a boyfriend. He's probably cheating on you anyway; guys that age are basically a sack of hormones with feet!"

"Mom. Stop."

"Oh, come on. You love playing Parenthood Police!" Just then, Abby snapped out of her role and saw how red and puffy her daughter's eyes were. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were upset! I mean, I heard you come in all hulked out, but I figured when you'd see Lexa's gift, you'd feel much better!"

At the mention of the most wonderful present she had ever gotten—and Clarke had gotten some mind-blowing gifts in her life, courtesy of rich grandparents and parents who weren't doing so bad financially either—the still highly emotional girl burst into tears.

"Baby, what's wrong? You're starting to worry me. What's going on? Is it Bellamy? Did that little moron make a pass at you again? Were you not clear enough with him last time about having no interest in dating him? Oh Clarke, I wish you hadn't fooled around with him and led him on… Either way, what's done is done. And I'll kick that asshole in the groin if he even so much as touches a hair on your head!"

"Mom."

Clarke was crying so hard she got the hiccups. Still, she tried to explain to her mother what was going on, since she didn't want either of them to be wasting any time discussing the poor excuse for a human being that was Bellamy. Furthermore, she realized in that moment that she needed to talk; and who better to talk to than her mom, her best friend and her confidante. In situations like this, she invariably felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for having such incredible parents—such a loving, understanding, cool mother who was wise and silly in equal parts and knew just what to say to make her feel better. Which is why Clarke had to tell her what she was feeling.

"Mom. I love her."

As she was making her bold statement, Clarke felt another bout of fresh tears coming. She tried holding them back; it was crucial for her to explain to her mother what she was going through, how much Lexa meant to her, but the salty droplets proved to be too hard to suppress. All she managed to get out were a few broken words cementing her confession.

"I lo-love h-h-her so m-much. I w-want her to b-b-be o-kay."

"Shhh it's okay, it's going to be okay. I know. Breathe. I've got you. Come on, let's go inside. I'll make you some tea and you can tell me all about it."

Clarke wanted to resist her mom's warm embrace and her much needed offer, get on the next bus and go mix her tears with Lexa's until they washed away all the poor girl's pain. But she knew she was too much of a mess to offer any kind of support right now, and somehow she didn't think the recluse would appreciate such a display of raw human emotions. So she let her mom guide her into the kitchen, and took long steadying breathes to stop crying and talk to her.

After tea was served, Clarke finally felt ready to put her feelings into words and break the silence that had been reigning for the past ten minutes or so, but it was Abby who spoke up first.

"Look, honey. You don't need to explain. I'm not surprised by what you said; nor am I upset. You know what my take on sexuality is: as long as it makes you feel good, and you're not hurting yourself or others, live and let live. So let us not waste any time labeling you; I'll even spare you the 'do you know what you're getting yourself into' speech. Still, there's an issue we need to address. This is Lexa we're talking about; she's not just your average teenage girl. You're aware of that right?"

Clarke was so overcome with love, so thankful for the magnificent woman sitting beside her, that she didn't want to say or do anything that might put a damper on their conversation, so she simply nodded; a gesture that never failed to remind her of Lexa, which made her smile.

"Clarke, this is no laughing matter. Lexa may not have any clinical condition, but the fact remains that she lives in her own little world, an attitude that in my book verges on psychosis. Now I know she's harmless, and way too smart and too kind to put you in any kind of danger; that's not what worries me. I fear for her mental sanity if you were ever to push her too far." Abby felt her daughter tense up. If Clarke didn't like the turn their conversation just took, she was sure going to hate what was coming next.

"Come here, let me braid your hair; that always relaxes you. Now honey, I need you to listen to what I'm going to tell you very carefully. But before you do, I need you to promise me you can handle it, like the mature, level-headed young adult I know you to be, alright?"

Clarke nodded again; only this time, she was frowning.

"Lexa's grandmother paid me a visit earlier today, after your sleepover. Don't think I forgot about how you slept out during the week, and chose to let me know in a sticky note! But we'll talk about that later. She told me Lexa was having night terrors again; she hadn't had any since her dad left. Did she ever tell you about him?"

Clarke shook her head. She didn't like where this was heading. She had made it a point not to ask her friend about her father, because she wasn't sure she was ready to hear about the man who, according to Lexa's grandmother, was responsible for the girl's strange rapport with reality.

"I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but you need to hear this to understand where I'm coming from. Lexa's father wasn't a nice man. Don't give me that panicked look, he didn't physically abuse her. However, he was very smart and deeply manipulative, and he used his powers to mess with both Lexa and her mom's heads. He had them convinced that he had a rifle hidden and that if they ever disobeyed him, he would shoot them dead. This gave Lexa nightmares. In order to stop her from waking him up at night with her screams, he made her believe that he had the house wired with explosives and that any loud noise would set them off. I won't get into details with you. Let's just say that he inflicted psychological warfare on the women of his household. It went on for years, until Lexa finally lost it one day, when her dad killed her pet hamster in front of her eyes. She wouldn't stop yelling and banging her head against the wall, until he hit her. Lexa was fourteen at the time. Her mother had been gone for a couple of years, so the girl's bruises gave her grandmother enough ammo to get a restraining order, and after a few months of vain attempts at overturning it, her dad was out of their life for good."

Up to that point in the story, Clarke was refusing to believe any of the words coming out of her mom's mouth. She was saying these horrible things to keep her away from her friend, she wanted her to forget about her feelings and focus on her studies… at this point, any theory was good enough to refute the truth. But at the mention of Lexa's bruises, the blonde got a very distinct mental image; a memory. A young feeble brunette with a half closed left eye and a puffy lower lip. Clarke herself was fourteen then; she hadn't realized what she was seeing. She remembered thinking that the weird girl bouncing around and giving orders into thin air looked like Quasimodo, but she wasn't put off by it. It was just the way she looked. The current realization gripped at Clarke's gut and knocked the breath out of her.

"That son of a bitch! I will kill him!"

Abby didn't have the heart to reprimand her for cursing. She knew how hard this was for her daughter to hear.

"I'm sorry you had to find out. I know it doesn't come as a surprise; we both suspected that Lexa's childhood wasn't all roses and rainbows. But I'm sure you didn't think it would be this bad. I myself wasn't ready for her grandmother's revelations. Yet she felt them necessary, because she is scared for her granddaughter. And I can't say that I blame her. You were about to confirm her worst fears just now. You see, Gertrude—no wonder Lexa never told us her grandmother's name, it's rather outdated, isn't it?—feels that you're getting too close to Lexa, and worries her granddaughter won't be able to handle it. Lexa doesn't trust people; that's why no one could ever get her to talk to a health professional—mental or otherwise. She only talks to the priest of her parish, about existence and other philosophical topics she likes. When she started talking to you, Gertrude was ecstatic. She noticed how Lexa was becoming more expressive, paying more attention to her appearance and going out more often; all good, normal teenage things. Her grandmother couldn't have been happier. Last night though, things changed. Gertrude woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of her granddaughter whimpering—I wouldn't expect you to have heard it; you're such a heavy sleeper. She found her sleeping in her closet, like she used to do when she was too afraid her screams would accidentally blow her house up. She put her back in bed; where you were. Gertrude put two and two together and figured you were the cause of Lexa's regression. Needless to say, she is very distressed over it. She says she would rather have teenage shut-in Lexa than terrified childhood Lexa. That's why she paid me a visit, asking me to convince you to stay away from her granddaughter. Now Clarke, I can hear you cussing at her in your head. Don't hold it against her, the woman loves you to pieces, and is heartbroken over her request. She even told me how chipper Lexa was this morning, planning your surprise. But the fact remains that her subconscious is giving out warning signals that can't be ignored. Still, I told Gertrude I wouldn't interfere in your friendship with Lexa. Because I truly believe your _friendship_ could be her salvation."

Her mother overstressed the word "friendship", and Clarke's frown deepened.

"You know what I'm saying, don't you? If you go over to her house and tell or show Lexa that you're interested in her as more than a friend, there's no predicting the extent of the damage that could do to her psyche. This a girl that has never had a romantic interest, or even a real friend before you came along. You yourself have told me repeatedly how carefully you have to tread with her in order not to scare her away. Imagine what it would be like to try to have a relationship with her. What sort of relationship would that be anyway, when you're leaving the country in a few weeks? Say Lexa accepts your love and you explore your feelings for each other, what will happen to her when you leave? What would happen if you discover that your feelings are platonic after all, that all of your desires come from wanting to save her? I know a Mother Teresa complex when I see one; I'm a doctor, remember? You're like both your father and me: you want everyone to be okay. You want your friend to be okay. But you can't love the hurt away. You can't fix her; only she can fix herself, with the help of professionals. I can see that I'm losing you, so let me just say this, and I'll leave you be: if you really love this girl, in any shape or form, you will pick her needs above your own. She needs you to be a good friend, to help her make more connections and build a life for herself in your absence. Make the best of the time you have left with her; teach her to live, like the rest of us. Then release her, so the both of you can move on to the next chapter of your lives—separately."

Abby didn't give her daughter time to argue. She could see Clarke was having a heated inner debate, so she left her alone with her thoughts, hoping that in the end, she would choose with her head, not her heart.


	23. Chapter 23

Back in her room, Clarke was reading Lexa's letter; again. The images of violence, the glass smashing, the incineration, the explosion, everything bore a new meaning, now that she knew what her friend's father had put her through. Did he use to belittle and threaten her like her reflection did in the story? She wished she could pretend not to know the answer, but she was sure that Lexa had been repeatedly put down by her dad. How can anyone come back from that? Was her mom right; was there no saving the damaged girl? Clarke was suddenly extremely tired. It was like she remembered she had just turned eighteen; she was too young to be dealing with such adult issues. For the first time since she started to have feelings for her friend, she wished she was still the carefree airheaded girl whose biggest worry was finding the right clothes to wear to all the parties she had to juggle. She quickly snapped out of it though; she wouldn't trade Lexa for anything or anyone. The brunette made her feel loved like never before; she made her feel strong but still took care of her. She made her feel smart yet still took the time to teach her new things. She made her talk about feelings, and life, and other Lexa topics, but still listened to her go on about fashion and boys and the latest gossip. They may be too different, but their dissimilarities were somehow complementary, and together they were whole. Clarke wanted nothing more than to tell her other half all of this, but knew better than to disobey her mother. If only she had some birthday cake at hand so she could make a wish for Lexa and her to be together eighteen times, then blow on each candle, just to be sure her wish would come true. Unfortunately, she had made her mother promise not to get her any cake, preferring to leave all the celebrations for Saturday. How to express her feelings for Lexa then? She was running out of options. She was about to give up and go to sleep, when her eyes set on her brand new painting gear. Then Clarke knew exactly what to do.

Two and a half hours later, the blonde was staring intently at her masterpiece. There was paint everywhere, including on her face and clothes; there was going to be hell to pay when her mother saw that she had been painting in her room—which she hadn't been allowed to do since she was seven and had decided to decorate her bedroom walls with her own drawings. Clarke couldn't bring herself to care though; she had just finished writing Lexa the love letter she deserved, and she couldn't wait to see the look on her friend's face when she sees it.

Clarke went to bed soon after, satisfied with her work and eager for a new day that would bring new adventures with her beloved brunette.

She was lying on moist grass, with Lexa's head on her stomach. The sleeping girl's mouth was slightly open, and Clarke wanted to shut it, since there were a lot of flies around. So she sat her upper body up, and as she was hovering over her friend, decided to close her parted lips with her own. She inched closer, carefully, until she was a mere breath away from Lexa's mouth. Just as she was about to close her eyes and surrender to the moment, she heard a buzzing sound. She tried to ignore it, but it was getting louder and louder. And just like that, Clarke was back in her room. She cursed at whoever was taking her away from such a sweet dream—that wasn't going to come true anytime soon—before looking at the screen of her still vibrating cell phone and seeing a text from her dream girl.

Clarke, It is I, Lexa. Would you be willing to meet me outside your house? Sincerely, Lexa

It was almost half past twelve. Since when was her tutor so reckless? She jumped out of bed and sprinted outside. At her front door stood Lexa who was harboring a pained look and holding up a plate wrapped in aluminum foil.

"Lexa? Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"Clarke. Nothing is the matter. I simply wished to check up on you."

"After midnight?" Clarke didn't know whether to be amused or frightened.

"I have overstepped. I should not have come over. I apologize. I was just… expecting to hear back from you. When I did not, I worried that my gift was not to your liking. Hence, I decided I should make sure myself. I can take it back if you want."

"Lexa, stop. You're overthinking again. I love your gift. Absolutely adore it; and you!" The blonde threw caution to the wind and gave a startled brunette a long, wet kiss on the corner of her lips.

"I… umm… am glad. You… happy birthday."

Stammering lexa was so adorable that Clarke wanted to give her a proper kiss. Instead, she steered the conversation toward a safer topic.

"And what do we have here?" Clarke pointed at the plate Lexa was still holding rather carefully.

"What? Oh, this. I asked grandmother to make her signature peach pie for you. I expected you to come over this evening… I thought you could make a wish on it. I never let her bake this pie for anyone but me, and only on special occasions, so I thought your wish would have more chances of coming true."

Clarke's heart was melting. This girl was so charming and so disarming, without even trying. "Oh Lex, you're simply too much! What did I ever do to deserve someone like you!"

The birthday girl was feeling giddy and playful. She took the pie from her friend, unwrapped it then smelled it wholeheartedly. "This smells heavenly! I have to taste it now. But we can't go in, my dad might be getting back any minute, and mom is sure to be only half asleep, waiting for him."

She looked around, trying to find a shelter where they could share the pie and as much of each other as they can.

"Oh I know! Our old treehouse!" Clarke all but squealed at her good idea. "I haven't been there in ages! Come on, Lex, it'll be our little hiding place in the sky!"

For all she knew, today could have been her own birthday, for in that moment, Lexa's deepest desire was coming true; she would have her sky princess all to herself in a place they could call their own.

They had dug into the dessert like they had both been starving. They were down to the last bite, and both girls were determined to get it. Clarke lunged forward first in an attempt to grab the last piece of pie, but got tackled by Lexa before she could put it in her mouth. They rolled around until Clarke finally pinned the petite brunette down with one hand, while eating the treat with the other. Lexa was mesmerized: her friend slowly chewed the last remnants of the pie before licking her lips, then darted her tongue to wipe out the peach jam residue from her lower lip. This series of actions that had occurred quickly, but which Lexa viewed in slow motion, made her heart do drumming sounds. It was almost like having a panic attack, but it felt too good to be one. So the entranced girl let herself enjoy the scene, hoping that her usually inexpressive face wasn't giving away the extent of her fascination.

Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for Clarke, Lexa's features were anything but inexpressive right then. The blonde could clearly read everything the flushed girl underneath her was feeling. And though she was fairly certain that Lexa herself didn't know what those sensations were—yet—Clarke was suddenly hopeful that she could maybe help her figure them out after all; and soon.


	24. Chapter 24

Clarke was having the best birthday. She had the best peach pie—the best dessert—she ever tasted, was treated to the best hug Lexa had given her so far—she believed her friend was hopped up on sugar; it was the only explanation she had for the eager, prolonged embrace, during which Lexa even let her hands roam free, draw circles on Clarke's back, almost graze her behind, before hooking them to Clarke's shoulders and pushing herself up to nuzzle her neck. Was the chaste brunette even aware of the effect her displays of affection were having on Clarke? Also, the birthday girl heard the best sound: she heard Lexa laughing. It was a barely audible, extremely shy laugh, surprisingly high-pitch compared to the deep, contralto tone of her spoken words. It made Clarke dizzy with excitement, and proud of her achievement; by Lexa's startled look when she emitted the new sound, Clarke guessed her reserved friend wasn't used to laughing in front of anyone—or ever. So she was beside herself with joy at the idea of getting the self-restrained girl to loosen up that much around her. She wished their night would never end. But she had already made her birthday wish before diving into the peach pie, and though that wish also involved her guest, it was more of a long-term one.

As if to confirm that her second wish couldn't come true, the universe chose that very moment to send Jake home. The exhausted man thought he was hallucinating when he heard muffled giggles coming from the treehouse, which hadn't been used for years—ever since Raven and Clarke turned fourteen and decided they had outgrown it. Then laughter turned into lively conversation, and he could distinguish his daughter's voice, so he yelled out for her. Seconds later, a blonde head peaked out from the treehouse and Jake was sure he was going to find a boy up there. He was starting to get riled up when out came Lexa. He was relieved for a minute, until he saw how red the girl's cheeks were and how she was avoiding his inquisitive eyes. He would have to have a talk with Abby. And Clarke. And probably Lexa. But for now, he had two love-struck teenagers to take care of.

Lexa had never felt such disgrace. Not only did she have to do a walk of shame in front of Jake—she never really got the meaning of that expression, but it felt right for such an occasion—she also had to listen to her grandmother express the extent of the humiliation she had brought on her family (she didn't really hear what she was telling Jake over the phone, because her grandmother never shouted) by leaving the house at such an ungodly hour without notice. The deflated girl wanted to punish herself for her misconduct, like she used to do growing up: whenever she would displease her parents, she wouldn't wait for them to punish her. She would stand in the kitchen corner, facing the wall, for hours, until she deemed it was enough; she wouldn't even pardon herself when her grandmother would ask her to; not before completing her penance. However, she was now standing in Clarke's kitchen. Thus, she would have to abide by her hosts' laws.

"Sir, I am ready to hear my sentence."

Jake started laughing, then noticed that neither girl was joining him, so he quickly sobered up and asked his daughter: "Is she for real?"

Clarke sighed and said, a little more tenderly than intended: "She's too good to be true, isn't she?"

Jake was becoming more and more baffled. He got the impression that he missed a chapter in his daughter's life; when had the strange little brunette become so important to Clarke? He cleared his throat and put an end to the absurd discussion.

"Lexa, I am in no position to 'sentence' you. You didn't commit any misdemeanor to begin with. Your only crime was wanting to be with your friend on her birthday. It's her fault for not throwing a proper birthday bash! So I'll tell you what; you can sleep here. It's too late anyway and I'm much too tired to drive you back home. Your grandmother doesn't mind, though she says you better enjoy it because after tonight, you're grounded for a long time. Unfortunately, you can't enjoy this evening for much longer, because you two should be getting to bed. Come on, let's go!"

The girls didn't have the strength to argue. It was one in the morning and they were both physically and emotionally drained. They barely made it to bed before collapsing on top of one another and falling right to sleep.

The next morning, Clarke did the unthinkable. Driven by her desire to share her gift with its recipient, she woke up before the early bird, and spent the eighty minutes during which Lexa was still asleep watching the angelic brunette, who looked even more beautiful in slumber—she was at peace. Clarke feared for a moment that she would find her friend hiding under the bed or locked up in the bathroom; she still wasn't over her sleeping in the closet during their last sleepover. But Lexa looked relaxed and rested and Clarke wanted nothing more than to kiss every feature, every body part, until Lexa knew beyond a doubt how much she was loved. Her deliciously torturous thoughts kept her company until the sleeping girl stirred and slowly started blinking her way back to reality. Her impatience getting the best of her, Clarke enthusiastically shook her half-awake guest into consciousness, repeatedly yelling "Wake up!"

"Clarke. If you do not cease this assault, I will have to physically restrain you."

"You can't open your eyes, and yet you're capable of making up full, formal, mean sentences! I'll never understand how your mind works."

"What is going on." Lexa wasn't amused.

"Good morning to you too! What a ray of sunshine you are!" She could see her friend wasn't going to cooperate, so she opted for another approach. "Ok tell you what, I wanted to show you something, but I'm starting to rethink the whole thing. Maybe I should leave it until later? Like in the afternoon, when you're finally fully awake?"

As usual, Lexa didn't acknowledge her joke. "You can leave it here and I will look at it in a few moments. As for you, could you be so kind as to move your chirpiness downstairs?"

"Ugh. You are the worst," said Clarke, while her facial expression was a clear sign that she still thought her friend was the best. "I'll leave you to it then! It's still on the easel… ok bye!"

A nervous blonde hastily exited her room.

Lexa didn't like surprises. Whenever her father would tell her he got her something, it would end badly. The time he bought her chocolate that was well beyond its expiration date and made her eat it came to mind; she had gained a lot of weight that summer, due to her grandmother going on a month-long trip abroad to visit her sister, and the cruel man found no better way to make his daughter stop overeating than by giving her food poisoning. So it was with great reticence that Lexa got out of Clarke's comfortable bed—she begrudgingly had to concede that in this case, bigger was better, and wondered how she would go back to sleeping in her own bed that would feel more like a coffin now. She scanned the perimeters from a safe distance, and was pleased to notice that Clarke had already put her gift to good use. She felt safe enough to get closer to the easel; and immediately regretted doing so. She was now staring at herself; but unlike her reflection, this version of her was smiling. Not the artificial, self-imposed smile she would put on for good measure. No, this was the real one, the one she almost never wore, the one she gave her painter the first time they met. _She still remembered it, after all these years._ The realization that their first encounter had as much impact on Clarke as it did on her left Lexa shaken and shaking. They had wasted so much time… And now they were running out of it. She willed the dark thoughts away for now and guided her concentration back to the painting. There she was, smiling and appeased, in a way she wished she really was. Having adjusted to the sight of her smiling, she then noticed a detail of utmost importance; she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it at first glance: there was war paint on her cheeks and eyelids. She was Commander Lexa. Furthermore, she had wings for arms, which made her look triumphant. Lexa thought back to the story she had sent Clarke the previous night; if she were ever to publish it, this would be the book cover. It embodied everything Lexa aspired to be; and everything she didn't dare dream of. She went to grab the painting and discovered its bottom was folded up. She unfolded it, revealing a set of clouds on which Painting Lexa was standing. Not only was she Commander Lexa, she was also Sky Princess Lexa. Her friend was telling her she could exist in both her own world and Clarke's.

Lexa was trying her best not to become overwhelmed. She couldn't—wouldn't—ruin this magnificent gift and her relationship with its painter. She didn't give herself time to start thinking and panicking. She carefully rolled the painting up and nearly tripped over herself leaving the room. Downstairs, she was accosted by the whole family who was having breakfast. As Clarke got up from the kitchen table to ask her to join in, she held her hand up to silence the blonde and blurted out the most diplomatic speech she could muster:

"Clarke. Your present is the most thoughtful and the most personal I have ever been gifted. I am touched and grateful. I will cherish it and will keep it out of harm's way. My deepest thanks. Now I must get to school. Thank you for offering me shelter for the night. Good day to you all."

Then she simply left, hair tousled, clothes disheveled, without so much as a wallet on her. Her overly formal effusion and her clumsy, unplanned exit spoke more of her feelings for Clarke than any words could. The blonde took in the love confession and felt it more deeply than a hundred-page-long love letter.


	25. Chapter 25

All day long, Lexa walked around feeling like the character from Clarke's painting: she was smiling, she was walking on clouds, she felt as light as the feathers on the wings she had for hands—she was happy. Classes went by in a blur. Lunch break was spent walking around, daydreaming. At one point, Lexa saw Clarke and her friend Raven arguing heatedly. She thought it might be over Bellamy but refused to indulge in jealousy; Clarke had just given her her heart in the form of a painting, and nothing—no one—would make her question that.

The tutoring session that afternoon went smoothly; though Clarke did seem a bit perturbed, she didn't bring it up and neither did Lexa, who was still high on her friend's gift. Even the news that she was cordially invited to Clarke's party the next day, taking place at Octavia and Bellamy's basement, wasn't enough to bring her down. Clarke even offered to butter up her grandmother so she would let the grounded girl go out.

It was only when the clock struck 8 p. m. that Saturday evening that it finally dawned on Lexa what she was about to do: she was going to her first outing. Suddenly, she had a hard time breathing. Thankfully, Clarke was picking her up, so she wouldn't have to make an entrance by herself. She was glad her friend knew how hard this was on her. As Lexa was trying not to suffocate, the door rang and her grandmother let in a vision of beauty like Lexa had never seen before.

Clarke was wearing a form-hugging, teal blue dress, that made the blue of her eyes even shinier, while her silky smooth hair formed a sparkly aura around her face. This was the closest Lexa had ever come to witnessing a miracle. _This is why people believe in God_. Ashamed of her blasphemous thought, Lexa averted her eyes from the sin-inducing girl, suddenly finding the kitchen tiles fascinating.

For her part, Clarke was lost in her own admiration of a lovelier than usual brunette whose hair was pulled back, revealing an elegant neck and cheekbones, and whose shirt showed more cleavage than the blonde was used to—which was none at all.

"You look." Silence. Lexa wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. "Appropriate."

"Aw! Lex! You always know the perfect thing to say."

Lexa didn't understand why, but her nonsensical attempt at a compliment had broken the ice. Clarke offered her an arm, then when Lexa didn't take it, did the job for her, hooking their arms together and dragging the outright scared brunette out of the house, to the sound of her grandmother's laughter.

The party wasn't very festive, at least in Lexa's opinion. People were barely speaking, too busy stuffing their faces with food then washing it down with alcoholic beverages. How did they even acquire a liquor license at their age? What was this world coming to? A few of the already inebriated ones were grinding lasciviously against each other on the dance floor, to a music that sounded more like noise to Lexa's ears. All in all, she was having a rather terrible time. At times like these, she was thankful for her poker face that hid the extent of her discomfort. She had been silently observing and judging her peers for about fifteen minutes when she decided that she had had enough, and went looking for Clarke. Once more, the blonde was engaged in a loud discussion with Raven.

"Clarke, I don't even know who you are anymore. This is our senior year, remember? We made plans, we're supposed to be all wild and party till we drop. Instead, you're acting all lovesick and childish, hiding in tree houses and gushing over some autistic girl who will never return your feelings. She has a whole imaginary world, for God's sake! She's one psychosis away from chopping you up to pieces!"

Clarke could have told her best friend off; could have spit back an acerbic retort putting her back in her place, shaming her for the name calling, offensive to both Lexa and people with autism. But she had just gotten Raven back, and would be losing her all over again soon enough. So she chose to rise above it, and simply walked away.

Lexa was nonplussed. Were Raven's words true? Was she holding Clarke back? She thought her extroverted friend was pushing her out of her shell, but maybe it was the other way around? And why did Raven think that she would never return the blonde's feelings? Had she not made her fondness of Clarke clear enough? All of Lexa's certainties were crumbling around her. She had to figure things out before they became too much to handle, and she needed Raven's help to do so.

"Raven. I am Lexa. I am Clarke's friend, much like you. That makes us friends by association. Which is why I am allowing myself to ask you for a favor, if you do not mind. I need some clarifications regarding Clarke."

Raven was too taken aback to answer. Why was this strange creature speaking in Shakespearian English?

"Do you think my friendship is harming Clarke? Because this is not my intention at all. She is the most amazing person I have ever come across, and I want nothing but happiness for her. If I am standing in the way of that, I will step aside and leave her be. Just say the word."

"Look weirdo, I'm guessing you overheard Clarke and me just now. I have nothing to say to you, except that if you think of Clarke as some prize you can take back to your Lalaland, think again. Clarke is no one's trophy wife and I'm sure as hell not gonna let you drag her into your messed up world."

Lexa didn't even need to think things over before firmly stating:

"I see. So it is my kingdom that bothers you. That can be taken care of. Clarke is far more important to me than the world I spent years building. I am willing to make that sacrifice for her. However, if I am going to do this, I want your word that you will not hassle her over our friendship anymore. Do we have a deal?"

Raven was impressed. The straightforwardness and uncensored honesty of the girl before her made her think she had finally met her match.

"Girl, you are one strange cookie, that's for sure. So let me be real with you for a second: contrary to what you might've heard so far tonight, I actually think you might be the best thing that happened to Clarke. True, you turned her into a boring childlike nerd—or rather turned her back into one, because that's how she used to be before she hit puberty—but it's for her own good. And she's much happier that way. So if you're ready to snap out of your waking delusions for her, then I've got nothing left to complain about. You've got yourself a deal! Now if you'll excuse me."

She had spent enough time on Clexa—she had mockingly used the portmanteau the previous day to get Clarke to wake up and smell the codependence; in vain. There were hot boys waiting for her on the dance floor.

Soon after the altercation, Clarke stumbled upon a dazed Lexa. They had been at the party for a little over an hour; a record for the brunette's first foray into what she considered to be teenage debauchery. So Clarke decided to cut her a break; truth be told, she wasn't having that much fun either. She had realized during the evening that, as she had been suspecting for the past few weeks, she was over this scene. She would much rather be curled up in bed with Lexa instead. Using her irrefutable charm, she convinced her classmate and occasional friend Monty and his boyfriend Jasper to drive them home.

They had been in the car for about ten minutes, holding themselves up by leaning on each other's shoulders, when Clarke decided it was time to assess the extent of the damage:

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"It was… eye opening." Lexa gave her a satisfied smile. She was proud of her evasive answer.

"Oh…kay. I'll take your word for it. Hopefully it won't be our last social event then!"

Clarke was giving Lexa that powerful gaze full of hidden meanings, which she was too tired to decipher, so the brunette looked ahead, and spotted Monty and his friend holding hands. That was odd; she didn't know two male friends did such a thing. Clarke followed Lexa's eyes and when she saw what she was staring at, she jumped at the opportunity to teach the naïve girl a thing or two about sexuality.

"You know they're together, right?"

Lexa blinked in confusion. It didn't help that Clarke had just whispered the question in her ear, eliciting a delicious sensation.

"They're _together_ , Lex. Dating. Lovers. Boyfriend and boyfriend."

"Oh."

Lexa didn't utter another word until she was dropped off. Though the more she thought about it, the more appealing she found the concept of two guys in love. It was so wonderfully cute that she wanted to pinch their cheeks and tousle their hair. She had no idea why their courtship provoked such a reaction from her; she was just glad she wasn't a homophobe. Up until that point, she had never met real life gay people, and she always worried that after years of church teachings and her grandmother's homophobic rants, she would be bothered by the presence of homosexuals. She would have hated to discover that she was an intolerant person. Which is why she was relieved to find herself so overjoyed by the presence of these two proud gay men and their edifying relationship. Nevertheless, something was gnawing at her. She had felt like replicating the guys' gesture, and holding Clarke's hand; but something held her back, and not just her usual repulsion of handholding. She sensed that it would be _wrong_ to do so; she had no idea where that feeling came from or why, but it troubled her immensely.


	26. Chapter 26

Sunday morning, Lexa woke up at dawn. She had a promise to keep. Wide awake, she ceremoniously put on her mother's black leather dress, which she had last worn at her "ascension"—that's what she called her rise to power as Commander—and that was still way too big for her small body. She carefully applied black aquarelle on her face to make up the war paint she usually adorned when she had official business—or a war to fight. She knotted her hair into thick tresses as best she could without her grandmother's help. She was ready—at least physically. She tiptoed out of the house, to the nearby park where she used to hold her weekly assembly. Everyone was there. Lexa didn't know where to begin, but by the looks on her subjects'—her friends—faces, they knew what was coming. Maybe she could go back on her decision? Raven might not have known what she was talking about. She could find a way to reconcile both worlds. Clarke wouldn't want her to lose something so dear to her heart. Lexa let all these thoughts come; she knew she would be tempted to back down. Just like she was certain she wouldn't. This was the right decision; for her sky princess, and for herself. She briefly wondered if she could still call Clarke that after today, then decided she would handle one hardship at a time. And so she solemnly addressed the small crowd:

"Dear friends, I stand before you today, not as your leader, or your creator, but as a mere human girl who will forever be indebted to you. Every one of you helped me through times so hard I did not believe I would survive them. Costia, my bed mate, thanks to you I dared discover my body without the weight of shame. Gustus, my warrior, you kept me out of harm's way and taught me that true strength lied within. Indra, my rock, you kept my secrets and with your wisdom, helped me realize my full potential. Lincoln, my brother in arms, my protector, you held me together when there was nothing stopping me from falling apart. Anya, my oldest companion, my sister, your outspokenness and your bravery pushed me to stand up in the face of injustice, to fight for myself and those I love. Louie, Kitty, I will miss you the most; you may be considered nothing more than pets, but to me, you were family. The truest I have ever known; one that taught me loyalty, empathy, compassion and unconditional love. Each one of you will leave an indelible mark on my heart. I will forever be grateful for every one of you. Alas, I am afraid it is time for us to part ways."

Anya was about to say something, but Lexa wasn't going to let any of them speak; wasn't going to let the excruciating moment drag out longer than was necessary. She quickly moved on to the more delicate part of their goodbye; her death. She declared in a tone that didn't leave room for discussion:

"I am deserting you, like a coward. I do not deserve a glorious death. I will die from a stray bullet while protecting a princess who fell from the sky, whom I took under my wing and swore fealty to. It seems only fitting, since the real sky princess is the reason I am leaving you all behind."

Lexa knew that her loyal subjects who all but worshipped her wouldn't like this decree; yet her mind was made up. All there was left to do was to let the scene play out. As she lay there bleeding to death, Lexa took one last look at each of her long-time cherished friends.

Speaking in her mother tongue for the last time, she let out her final words in a whisper: "Ai gonplei ste odon."

Lexa hadn't felt such despair since her hamster died at the hands of her father. The sole purpose of having an imaginary world was to protect her from this exact feeling. She had been sure that fiction couldn't elicit strong emotions, especially not ones of sorrow. She couldn't help feeling silly for being so heartbroken over people and animals that were a figment of her imagination; yet they were the most real thing she had known. It was like losing her grandmother—or even worse, Clarke. The memory of the blonde soothed her soul a bit, until she remembered that she too would be leaving her behind. So she lay down on her back and let grief overtake her, tears cascading down her cheeks to water the already damp grass.

She stayed that way for hours, crippled by the ache gripping her insides, waiting for her tears to dry. She even forgot that she had a tutoring session at noon. Luckily, her grandmother was there to remind her. Gertrude always knew to look for her granddaughter at the park, if she couldn't find her around the house. And there she was, in a fetal position, rocking back and forth and making humming sounds to comfort herself. The woman's heart broke for the young girl who would always be too fragile to exist in the real world. She considered leaving her there and making her miss her tutoring duties; after all, it was because of Clarke that her granddaughter had reverted back to her old dysfunctional self. However, she had always treated Lexa with respect, and wouldn't deprive the mature girl of her free will. So she wrapped her in her arms, rocked her and whispered an old lullaby she used to love, until her emotionally spent granddaughter fell asleep.

Upon waking up, the first thing Lexa did was check the clock: ten past eleven. She hadn't missed her appointment. And yet, she had no desire to keep it; she couldn't let Clarke see her this way. Which is why she was forced to do the unthinkable: she sent the blonde a text message.

Clarke, I will not be able to tutor you today. I am sorry for any inconvenience this might cause you. Sincerely, Lexa

She hoped her friend would understand, though she couldn't really bring herself to care either way. For right then, she didn't care about anything or anyone; and she wished it would always be that way.


	27. Chapter 27

Lexa was contemplating spending the rest of her life in bed. She would surround herself with everything she would need to survive—things, not people; Lexa didn't need people. She could see no valid reason for her to ever get up again. She had never found medicine that appealing, so even though she intended to become a veterinary and build as many animal shelters as her salary would allow, she wasn't looking forward to med school. Her exchanges with her grandmother were becoming more succinct and less significant; she could do without them. The only obstacle remaining between her and complete annihilation was Clarke; Lexa was having mixed feelings about her. On the one hand, every fiber of her small, tired body was screaming for her to let the blonde come over and hold her and make every other thought go away. She even considered surrendering to that foreign need she felt to be in her friend's arms in that moment. Yet, on the other hand, Clarke's presence had tilted her world on its axis; which was sometimes good, but mostly painful. In the current situation, even if she herself wasn't aware of it and hadn't actively caused it, her well-adjusted friend was the reason for Lexa's suffering. As much as it killed her to admit it, her life would be easier, calmer, without Clarke in it.

Lexa had only been going over these considerations in her head for a few minutes, when her phone buzzed, signaling a text message.

11:14 a.m.

Lexa, wats wrong? It must be smtg big for u to miss our session & write in an xtra formal way!

11:16 a.m.

I do not wish to talk about it. I will see you at school.

11:16 a.m.

LEXA! Dont b like that. Tell me.

11:16 a.m.

Tell me

Tell me

Tell me

11:17 a.m.

Tell me. I can do this all day.

11:17 a.m.

Clarke. It is no time to act childish. Please stop messaging me, or else I would be forced to turn my phone off.

11:18 a.m.

TELL

ME

.

11:19 a.m.

Please.

11:25 a.m.

They're gone. And now I'm all alone. I do not exist in any world anymore. It hurts.

11:25 a.m.

Wat! Wat happend?! OMG this is awful! Poor baby, the pain u must be in! Im coming over.

11:26 a.m.

Do not. I beg of you. I wish to be by myself.

11:26 a.m.

:((((((((

11:26 a.m.

Why are you sending me a pattern of punctuation marks. Is it a coded message?

11:27 a.m.

Theyre emojis! Never mind. Bottom line, I wont leav u alone a time like this! No way. Ill b there soon.

11:29 a.m.

Clarke.

I am in no position to receive visitors. I do not want you here. Please respect my wishes and stay away until I tell you otherwise.

Thank you for understanding. Have a good day.

Lexa

 _That should do it_. Lexa put her phone on silent—for the first time—and dove back under bed sheets tainted with her tears and sweat.

Next thing she knew, she was woken up by a melodic sound that never failed to make her heart flutter. Upon hearing Clarke's soul-soothing voice, Lexa knew what was about to transpire, and willed herself not to lose her composure. But as soon as Clarke opened her bedroom door, her face contorted into a grimace before she burst into tears, ran into her friend's arms and held on to her like a life rack.

"They're gone. I abandoned them. What have I done?"

Clarke briefly returned Lexa's hug, before breaking it and depositing a trail of kisses to erase the tears that were already tracing patterns on the devastated brunette's face. She had never seen the collected girl so emotional, and a small part of her enjoyed being able to comfort her friend, to know her this intimately. She quickly chased the inappropriate thoughts away and focused on rubbing Lexa's shoulders and softly shushing her cries. She was afraid her sobbing would draw her grandmother's attention and she didn't want Gertrude to interfere; she wanted to be the only one who eased her friend's pain, so she carefully moved her to her right side, then, supporting her weight, plumped down on the bed. Her fall on the bed made Lexa fall down the well of sorrow even further; her quiet whimpers turned into wailing. Clarke started to wonder if she was in deeper than she could handle, when Lexa, suddenly straightened up and grabbed her hand.

"It had to be done? Everything is going to be alright?" They sounded more like questions than statements; it was usually the other way around with Lexa. Where was all this vulnerability coming from? Clarke feared that if she were to address the issue, Lexa would shut down again. She was very aware of how delicate the uncharted situation was, and couldn't risk any faux pas; her closed off friend was giving her the opportunity to help her open up, and it was up to Clarke to make sure that happened. So the blonde started by gathering up the shattered pieces of her friend into the tightest hug her body allowed for. In fact, she was pressing their bodies against each other so hard that she feared she would crush Lexa's thin bones. Which is why she let go, angling her body in a way that allowed her to put Lexa's head on her right shoulder, while she caressed her hair and her face with her left hand. After a couple of minutes of gentle stroking, she had an idea.

"Lex, sweetie, what would you say if I asked you to write a story right now? You could express what you're feeling through fiction; I believe it's called sublimation."

Clarke didn't have time to congratulate herself for her brilliant idea before Lexa answered bitterly:

"No. I am done with fiction. I will tell you what happened like the adult I am supposed to be."

That simple affirmation tore up Clarke's heart. Her candid friend had suddenly morphed into a bitter grownup. She didn't know what to say to that. But Clarke wasn't going to admit defeat that easily. The resourceful girl came prepared. She took out some henna and a couple of brushes from the big bag of painting utensils she had brought over, which Lexa in her deflated state hadn't even noticed, and told the grief-stricken brunette rather than asked her: "Take off your top."


	28. Chapter 28

Waking up from her stupor, Lexa cast Clarke the most inquisitive look she could manage under the circumstances—her eyes were so puffy she could only get her eyelids to open halfway, and they were stinging so much she guessed her sclera must be an ugly red. How ever her incredulous stare came across, Clarke seemed to have figured out the brunette's silent question; she smiled a lopsided smile—Lexa guessed it was because her friend was trying to stop her fascial muscles from forming a smile during such a dramatic time—and waved at her with the henna paste, as if that gesture offered up a logical explanation, enough to put Lexa in the loop. Yet she looked even more lost and was starting to panic, so Clarke decided maybe it wasn't a situation where actions spoke louder than words after all; maybe she needed both.

"Hey, hey, don't get worked up. I'm not gonna mummify you or anything. This is henna paste; are you familiar with it?"

If Lexa were still exhibiting human emotions, she would have been offended by the question. Was it not her who bought Clarke the very brushes she was now holding so proudly? Had she not informed her painter friend of her monthly escapades to the art supply shop? In another life, she would have reprimanded the blonde for her forgetfulness. However, nothing mattered anymore, so she simply said "Yes."

 _She's not saying much, but at least we're interacting_. Now that she was all cried out, Lexa had reverted back to an unfazed attitude that Clarke was starting to forget she ever had. But she could see intrigue flash in the otherwise stoic girl's eyes, so she felt like she was on the right path, and soldiered on.

"Then you know that it's used for tattoos. Now before you bite my head off, I know your stance on 'disfiguring the sacred body God gave you'. But we're not talking about a real tattoo here. Consider it a painting on skin! I'm sure God wouldn't mind it. It would be your way of commemorating your lost friends. I think it's the least they deserve after all you've been through together. And while I admire and stand by your decision to let them go, I don't see why you wouldn't want to remember them, and celebrate what you had."

Lexa had gone from wanting to bite her friend's head off—though not for the reason she mentioned, but rather for speaking of God so shamelessly—to wanting to scream at her not to mention _them_ again, to never wanting her to stop talking, because her words were piercing through the fog of tragedy clouding her thoughts and rendering her apathetic. She could feel herself feel something; a strong desire to do as Clarke was telling her. So she simply got on her feet, turned her back to her distracted guest and swiftly removed her top. She used it to hide her nakedness before turning back to face Clarke.

"Okay."

"Okay!"

Clarke's voice came out much more high pitched than planned, but she was so thrilled that the jaded girl was being responsive that she didn't care if her tone betrayed her emotions. She drew Lexa back down on the bed, laying her on her stomach, adjusting her body to give her enough room to move around. Lexa was being uncharacteristically docile; even though it was for the wrong reasons, Clarke liked it. At the first swipe of the brush though, the brunette started fidgeting.

"Lex, If you don't stay still your tattoo will look like my childhood bedroom wall drawings!"

"What are you drawing."

Commander Lexa was back. Her creator might think she killed her, but Clarke knew better; Lexa would always have a side of her that was all _Heda_ , like she called herself in her own language.

"How about I tell you about the tattoo while I'm drawing it. Maybe that'll distract you enough not to move!" A nod. "Good. So first off I am drawing the infinity sign at the base of your neck. It's the symbol of continuous renewal. It means that things are never really lost, only transformed. Originally, it was the image of a snake biting its own tail. Many believe that to mean that we have all we need within ourselves. The Tibetan Buddhists even say that everything we experience actually only happens inside our head. So it's only fitting to have that symbol on you, looping together past and future, the inside and the outside worlds."

Lexa was certain whatever Clarke was saying had a lot of meaning and she was sure she would appreciate all the effort her empathetic friend was putting into making her feel better. But for the moment, all she could think about was how Clarke's left palm was resting on the small of her back, steadying her, and how the circles she was drawing were giving her goose bumps. The sun was filtrating through her window, bathing her in warmth, while the artist's hand was scorching her skin; both sensations felt so good that Lexa had to bite her lips to sop them from emitting an appreciative sound that wouldn't have sounded like her. She tried to focus on the blonde's words to distract herself from the excruciatingly pleasurable sensations her body was being subjected to.

"Now I'm drawing an empty circle under your shoulder blade. It represents the virtual reality, because it's empty, and yet it's still there. And a second circle, which represents the real reality. I'm making this one full. Finally, I'm drawing connecting lines between the two, so you never have to choose again."

Just as Lexa had gathered enough clarity to thank her friend for the beautiful and obviously well thought out explanation—Clarke must have been thinking about these symbols long before she found out the news of Lexa's subjects dying, which was odd enough that she made a mental note to inquire about it later—when she felt a hot breath on her back. All coherent thought left her at once. Clarke was blowing on the tattoos, to help them dry out faster. Lexa wasn't prepared for what she was experiencing: her whole body felt like hot lava. Clarke's breath was washing through her in rippling waves; she was nothing but molten flesh moving like the tide with each new breath. Then the divine assault stopped, replaced by shuffling noise. Clarke was looking for something in her bag—a spray of sorts, which she proceeded to apply on the brunette's back, rubbing it ever so gently with the tips of her fingers. If one could die from an over sensitized body, Lexa would have been drawing her last breath. She was sweating from the cold of the spray, from the heat of the tender touch, or from something else—she didn't know anymore. Her body had relinquished control to an all-powerful witch who was playing it like her own personal instrument.

"All done! The lemon juice brings out the henna's color. I hope it didn't bother you? It's supposed to last up to three weeks; by then, you'll be eighteen, so you could get a real one in its place!"

Not trusting herself to speak, Lexa flashed her a wide-eyed grin that Clarke didn't know what to make of, so she chalked it up to PTSD and decided her work here was done. She should leave her friend to rest after a trying day. She told her as much. Still feeling tingly all over and too hot to function, and still smiling, the disoriented brunette nodded, even slower than usual, before lying back on her stomach and practically fainting into a sound sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

Lexa didn't wake up until the next morning. Thankfully, she wasn't one to move around in her sleep, so she was still assuming the same position from the night before; her tattoo was intact. That mere thought picked up her mood instantly. It was about time she turned over a new leaf; she herself always used to chastise her subjects whenever they would pine or linger or dwell over things past. It was time she led by example; even if there was no one left to lead.

After a full body yawn that also served as a stretch, Lexa automatically checked her alarm clock, which got her to notice her phone blinking right next to it: twelve missed calls and four text messages, all from the same number—the only one she had saved.

3:44 p.m.

Hey girl with the infinity tattoo! I just got home. Wanted to see how u wer doin. Text me back wen u wake up! Kisses

4:30 p.m.

Is it normal that ur still sleepin? Its been over 2hrs! Dnt make me com back over ther! :/

4:33 p.m.

Lex, u havnt fallen back into ur pit of despair hav u? U dnt need ur imaginary friends anymor. U hav me. We'l hav our own world. The treehouse will b our kingdom &we'l find new subjects. It wont b weird coz we'r all real!

4: 34 p.m.

I love you. Please be ok.

4: 55 p.m.

I calld ur grandma. She told me ur sleepin still & that its normal coz ur spent. Alls well that ends well! Plz disregard my previous msgs. Sleep well! Mwah

Lexa found Clarke's fuss over her endearing, and let herself enjoy it. From now on, she was going to have to allow herself human emotions and human interactions, since there weren't any more fictitious ones to fulfill her needs. If her friend wanted to stand by her side and offer her a new reign, why shouldn't she accept? Wasn't that what Raven was telling her to do; be normal? She didn't know much about normalcy, but Clarke sure did. So if the blonde was telling her they could be each other's world, that they could hide away from the rest and choose their own surroundings, she would take her word for it.

Their reunion at the school gates took on epic proportions. To an outside onlooker—which Octavia happened to be—it seemed like they had just found their way back to each other, after being forcefully separated for years. Octavia wasn't one for indulging in human observation—she was too taken with her own thoughts of Armageddon and other deathly scenarios to care about the outside world—yet she couldn't tear her eyes away from the movie-like scene taking place across the street from her secret "cigarette time" hideout: the awkward brunette—who Octavia always thought would be cool to befriend, since she kept to herself and wasn't nearly as vain or perky as the other incredibly annoying girls their age—was shuffling her feet and looking nervously to her left, then to her right. Suddenly, she froze in place, and Octavia could see her expression change from one of anxiety to one of unadulterated joy. The only other time the rebellious girl had seen such a look was whenever her puppy would greet her after a long absence. Lexa was in love—with a migraine-inducing upbeat girl; everything Octavia hated. Yet that particular irritating blonde happened to be her friend—she couldn't for the life of her figure out how that had happened—so Octavia couldn't bee too cross with the enamored brunette for falling for her. After all, Clarke's qualities more than compensated for her eerie cheerfulness and her disgustingly positive outlook on life. Not too displeased with her two classmates who were clearly made for each other, Octavia turned away from their too-long-for-comfort hug, stubbed out her cigarette on the heel of her shoe and made her way to class, before she got in trouble for being late—again.

Later that day, in Lexa's bedroom, Clarke was being oddly serious, putting all her focus into her studies, not even giving her friend a sideway glance. The brunette had to give up her dreams of getting her tattoos checked by their creator—maybe they would even need some retouching; which would mean another round of hot breath on her back and careful yet strong hands pinning her down on the bed. Lexa sighed and brought her attention back to her textbook, but Clarke heard the unusual sound and decided the jig was up—her tutor was on to her. She might as well just start talking.

"So about college…"

Lexa was caught off guard; her mind was so busy trying to chase away unwelcome thoughts of physical intimacy that, for once, she wasn't thinking about her friend's looming departure.

"I do not wish to discuss this matter."

"Your sigh says otherwise."

"You do not have access to my thoughts. Hence, you have no way of knowing what the ones behind my sigh were. I have no desire to open this particular can of worms."

"And here I thought worms would appeal to your morbid side!"

Clarke immediately regretted her bitter retort.

"Sorry! That was uncalled for. I'm just really trying to tell you something here Lex. And I thought with your new resolution to be more grounded and deal with reality, you would be more open to discussing my moving away. Don't you at least wanna know where I'm going? You'll be going there often; don't you wanna know where you'll be spending all your college vacations?"

Lexa did not. But Clarke was right. Lexa 2.0 had to take things in stride, and go with the flow.

"Tell me."

Clarke could feel the resistance behind her friend's statement. She was starting to dread her imminent revelation. Paris was halfway across the world. It had a different language, a different culture; one she was sure Lexa wouldn't identify with. How was she going to break this news, and with it, the unwitting girl's heart?

"I'm moving to Paris." Clarke always found straightforwardness to be the best policy.

She watched in shock as Lexa perked up and broke into the biggest smile.

"Paris!" she squealed. " _J'adore_ Paris!"

"Wait, what? You love Paris? You speak French?"

Clarke was dumbfounded. Would Lexa never cease to amaze her?

The brunette joyfully answered with a simple "Of course"—as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to speak the foreign language fluently.

"And you're not gonna explain how or why!"

"My grandmother lived a few years in the French suburbs in her youth. Her father was enrolled in the French army during WWI. She fell in love with the culture, and it never really went away. Growing up, she used to sing me French lullabies, and read me bedtime stories in French. I picked up on the language without realizing it. Soon after, I was having conversations with her. Before she knew it, I was reading French novels in their original language. I even write in French. I find it expresses my inner deepest emotions better than English could. Grandmother says it's because it's the language she used to convey her own feelings towards me. Whatever the reason, it speaks to me. Look, I even found this the other day, during our annual spring cleaning."

An overly enthusiastic Lexa jumped over Clarke's lying form to the other side of the bed, opened her bedside drawer and got out a worn out notebook.

"It's a journal I kept for a month when I was ten, during my grandmother's trip abroad."

She held it up triumphantly, then seemed to hesitate for a moment, before opening it on the first page and starting to read:

" _Je suis une enfant heureuse; si heureuse que j'en suis triste._

 _Je suis une enfant sereine; si sereine que j'en crie la nuit dans mes rêves._

 _Je ne sais pas dessiner, alors j'écris. De jolis mots bien propres que j'offre à ma maman adorée._

 _Je ne connais encore rien à la vie, alors je me tiens tranquille et hoche la tête. Surtout bien se tenir, surtout ne pas déranger_."

To say Clarke was flabbergasted wouldn't do her current state justice. She was trying to translate the words as Lexa was reading them, even though she was nowhere near as good as her multitalented friend:

"I am a happy child; so happy that it makes me blue.

I am a tranquil child; so tranquil that I scream at night in my dreams.

I have no talent for drawing. Thus, I write. Pretty, proper words that I offer up to my beloved mother.

I know nothing about life, so I keep quiet and nod. Always behave, never to bother."

Clarke wasn't capable of forming a single clear thought, let alone of answering the brunette's silent question about her writing. What was she to tell her? That the thought of a mere child writing—feeling—such sorrow, such dismay, was so heart-wrenching that she just wanted to hold her and cry?

Luckily for her, Gertrude's voice broke the moment, calling out to her granddaughter, who immediately rose to her feet, put away her journal and went out of the room to check on the older woman.

In the blink of an eye, Clarke's mind went into overdrive; she went from agonizing over Lexa's words to wanting them all to herself—maybe not just herself. She didn't allow herself to hesitate; she got up, swiftly opened her friend's drawer, took out the desired object, slid it away in her bag, and sat down on the bed just as Lexa was coming back in. She hoped the owner of the journal wouldn't notice its absence before she could put her recently thought of plan into action. To calm her protesting conscience, she promised herself not to read another word of the young girl's entries. However, she would do something better; she would turn these words into Lexa's ticket to staying in her life.


	30. Chapter 30

Two weeks went by in an instant. Yet Lexa recalled every moment spent with Clarke—every hug, every kiss on the cheek, every graze of the shoulder. Her bedtime thoughts about the absurdity of life had been replaced with memories of past touching and fantasies of future encounters and the physical contact they would entail. Not that she didn't appreciate her talks with her sky princess; Clarke was deep and insightful. But above all, she was a good listener. She was the first person who Lexa felt was listening to her with all her soul, rather than just hearing words and looking for an occasion to interrupt with her input and advice based on her own life experience, like everyone else did. Her newfound confidante often contended herself with looking intensely into Lexa's eyes, and silently encouraging her to reveal things the brunette wasn't even aware she wanted—needed—to disclose. Like how she believed, deep down—even though she knew it wasn't reasonably true—that she was unlovable. Or how she was convinced that she was made to be alone, to end up by herself, since relationships were a foreign concept to her—which she regarded with disdain. Clarke hadn't batted an eye at the revelations, though her look revealed the immensity of her sadness and disbelief. It must have been hard for her not to comment, or try to convince her tutor of the error of her beliefs. Lexa was thankful for that. It incentivized her to open up further, both physically and emotionally, to her trusted friend.

By the end of the month, Lexa had made so much progress that she was now capable of holding Clarke's hand without feeling queasy, of expressing what she was feeling without breaking into a sweat or clamming up.

Wednesday April 27th was the day of Lexa's birth—the most dreaded day of the year. Lexa hated celebrations; New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, Saint Patrick's Day… any holiday that wasn't religious had no reason to be. Especially a day commemorating such an insignificant, hassling event as her arrival to earth. Luckily, her grandmother had long been compliant with her wishes not to acknowledge the unwelcome event in any way. No one else cared, beside Clarke. But Lexa hadn't been bitten by the social media bug that kids her age were so taken with, so her personal information wasn't being circulated on the net. Hence, her friend had no way of knowing it was her birthday.

To be on the safe side, Lexa avoided Clarke all day, until their last period chemistry class, which she spent stealing looks at the blonde, as she always did after being deprived of the sight of her friend—sitting at the far corner, nibbling on a pencil and absently playing with perfect spirals of golden locks—on Tuesdays.

After class, she waited for Clarke to gather her things so they could leave together for their tutoring session. But Clarke told her she would meet her at her house, pretexting an urgent errand, and jogged out of school suspiciously.

Two and a half hours later, Lexa was crouched down on the lawn outside her home, petting an orange tabby kitten that was barely bigger than her palm and tearily holding it to her chest.

"Clarke! How did you arrange for this to happen?" Lexa croaked the question, fighting through sobs and tremors; she was moved beyond measure.

"Anything is possible when you're in love!"

Clarke instantly blushed and looked away after the powerful statement inadvertently escaped her lips. Lexa didn't seem to absorb the full meaning of it though, focused as she was on her new baby—Clarke wasn't sure that her clueless friend would have understood the confession even if she had been fully concentrated on the uttered words.

 _Moving on_. "We need to name her! I got you a female so she would be like Kitty. Oh I know! How do you say 'cat' in your made-up language?"

"Trigedasleng."

"Wow! That's a mouthful for a word as simple as 'cat'!"

"No. It is the name of my made-up language. And I thank you for the thoughtful gesture, bit I do not wish to rehash the past. I would rather give her a name that reflects my present: new-beginnings. With a dash in between words."

"Lexa! You're giving her an actual name, not an online forum nickname! What about Clexa? I know Raven uses it ironically, but I kinda like it! She'll be ours; we can share custody."

"And who gets her when you leave?"

"Way to ruin the moment Lex!"

"I apologize. I did not wish to put a damper on the occasion. Your gift is wonderful. If you will excuse me, I think I better go tend to her needs."

Whenever she felt like she was losing Lexa to her dark thoughts, Clarke had found a guaranteed way to bring her back to her: touching. When words failed, her touch always seemed to do the trick of getting her rogue friend to comply.

"What NewKitty needs is some warmth. I have an idea! Why don't we lie down and spoon while you hug her, so our combined body heat soothes her to sleep?"

She knew she was making no sense, and feared that Lexa would recognize her desperate attempt at physical intimacy. However, the perplexed look that the brunette was giving her told her that her reserved friend was confused rather than upset; she didn't know what spooning was. So Clarke smilingly explained:

"Spooning is when two people lie down front to back and hug. I'll be the big spoon and you'll be the little one."

"Why am I a little spoon. Just because you are taller than me does not make you a big spoon."

"But if you spoon me you won't be able to hold the cat!"

"Then we both spoon the cat."

"You know what? Just shut up and let me hold you."

In that instant, Lexa realized she had been arguing against something she really wanted. So she nodded then promptly climbed into bed and let herself sink into her friend's arms. For the first time in her life, Lexa felt like she had a family in the true sense of the word—one that gave her security, love, comfort; peace. And unlike her real family, she was starting to believe this one wouldn't abandon her. In return, she vowed to have and hold them, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do them part.


	31. Chapter 31

The girls cuddled well into the evening, with the kitten huddled up next to her owner. Lexa was so content and relaxed that she wasn't sure whether she was the one purring or the cat. But there was a question she had been dying to ask for hours, and since the sun had long been set and Clarke would soon be leaving, she reluctantly decided to break their peaceful interlude. She disentangled her limbs from the other girl's, sat up with her back against the bedpost and started.

"Clarke."

"Yes."

Whenever Clarke felt playful, she would imitate the firm and overly serious tone of voice the brunette when asking a question, which never failed to put a smile on the latter's face.

"How did you find out that today was my birthday? My grandmother is the only one who knows. Now I know she is fond of you, but I refuse to believe she would divulge such classified information and risk my wrath for a smile, no matter how radiant it is."

"Calm down, Rizzoli."

"What is a rizzoli."

"Ugh, I have so much to teach you! But first things first. No need to go all psycho detective on your grandma, she didn't rat you out. It was all my doing. I might've… convinced one of our dear classmates to hack into the school system and… take a quick glance at your student file."

With that revelation, Clarke straightened up in bed as well, readying herself for a stern talking to. For her part, Lexa knew she should be asking about the reason behind such snooping, or how much her friend learned about her, but all she really wanted to know in that instant was the identity of the perpetrator.

"Bellamy?"

"What? No! I would never let him get his hands on anything that concerns you! And if you think he's smart enough to do more than search for porn, you really don't know Bellamy!"

"Nor do I want to."

Lexa hated that guy beyond measure. Why, she had no idea.

"It was Monty, ok? And I made him swear he would only look for your date of birth. After we celebrated my birthday, I really wanted us to experience the same with your special day. I had no idea it would be this close to mine! Or that you hated it this much… It wasn't that bad, was it?"

Clarke had suddenly become so small and unsure that Lexa regretted her outburst. She decided to make it up to her friend by being completely open with her.

"Clarke. It was sublime. I already have so much love for this little creature, and I can't wait to watch her grow and take care of her. And you… your mere presence is all the gift I will ever need."

Clarke was stunned. She knew Lexa had made progress, that she now felt more or less comfortable sharing her feelings, but up until now it had meant she would state how she felt about a meal or a movie, not people, least of all her. She had been waiting for her inexpressive friend to open up on the subject for so long—ever since their first encounter during recess all those years ago—that she had given up hope of ever witnessing such a confession. Which is why, of all the scenarios she would play in her head—involving actions rather than words—she wasn't prepared for this particular one, in which Lexa would practically tell her she loved her.

"That's… Thank you!"

"You are most welcome."

The birthday girl answered her so naturally, with such a genuine smile, and not even a hint of sadness, that it immediately became clear to Clarke: Lexa thought hers was a normal reaction to a love confession. How many times had the unwanted girl told her parents she loved them without hearing it back? How was it possible for her to love someone and not expect anything in return? Her outrage and an overwhelming sense of admiration and compassion for her friend snapped the blonde out of her previous state of shock. She firmly grabbed Lexa's hand as she was getting out of bed, halting her movement.

"Lexa wait! What I meant to say is, I feel the same way. About you. I'm so lucky to have you in my life. I wouldn't trade the past months with you for anything in the world. You're beautiful, inside and out, and the more I get to know you, the more I'm in awe of your intelligence, your wit, your talent, your kindness. Because you, Lexa, have the biggest heart I've ever seen, no matter how hard you try to hide it. And it makes me happy. You make me happy. You are the best part of my day, the first and last one I want to talk to, and…" She felt herself lose track of her thoughts and was afraid her declaration would take an unexpected turn, so she preferred to cut it short, while steering the conversation towards a point she really needed to address but didn't know how to. "Look, I'm not good with words like you are, but I really want you to know how much you mean to me. I don't want to ever lose you, because I don't want a life without you in it."

Lexa might have managed to maintain a neutral expression, but internally, she was a mess. Clarke's words were equally painful and delightful. Her whole being was like a Rubik's cube being twisted and turned—until everything finally fell into place, and she was whole. Clarke wanted her in her life, always. She would find a way to make that happen.

"I will make it happen. If it is your wish to keep me, I am yours. We will find a way to be together."

Clarke had found the opening she was looking for all afternoon.

"I'm glad to hear you say that! Because I have a letter for you. It's from the Sorbonne."

"A letter. For me. From the Sorbonne. The best college in France."

"Some would disagree with you on that point, but yes! That Sorbonne. They've written you a letter!"

Clarke tried to sound light and cheerful, as if the whole situation was perfectly normal and Lexa shouldn't be alarmed. But when Lexa froze and looked like she was about to faint, the sneaky blonde couldn't beat around the bush anymore.

"Ok so I might have borrowed the journal you showed me a couple of weeks ago and mailed a copy of it along with an application to a few French colleges. I thought…"

Lexa held up her hand to silence her friend. She was still expressionless, and Clarke had a passing thought that if she could ever invent anything, she would make an emotion detector just so she could know what was going on in the brunette's head and heart.

"Clarke. I do not condone your invasion of my privacy. I do not need to remind you how hard it is for me to trust anyone, and the repercussions your actions might have in that department. Yet, I do understand what your motivations are, for I have the same. Furthermore, I will not lie and tell you I am not pleased to be getting mail from the Sorbonne! I am sure you will find a way to gain back my trust. Now if you permit, I would like to read that letter."

Clarke guessed this was the closest she would get to seeing an excited Lexa. The girl with a high standard of morality really must have been dreaming of such divine intervention, for her to look past her nosy friend's infraction. Conscious of how lucky she was, Clarke handed the letter over to Lexa who, in spite of her obvious desire to find out its content, still took her time opening the envelop before carefully unfolding the paper. Her eyes scanned it with great concentration for a few minutes, before she remembered there was another concerned party, and briefed Clarke.

"They thank me and 'my devoted friend' for applying, and for the journal. As we both know, admissions are closed for next year. However, they are so impressed with what I wrote at such a young age that they say if I turn in a solid essay and apply for next semester, I'm a shoo-in!"

Clarke had been wrong. This was the most excited she would see Lexa. Not only did her voice go up an octave, she even ended her report with a raised fist and a small jump of victory—so adorable it made Clarke swoon.

"I knew that God would listen to my prayers," she stated triumphantly.

"Yes. And the fact that I turned in your application! That has to count for everything right? Or did God make me do it?"

"I could give you a lesson in faith, but I have an essay to write. And I know people better suited for the job than I am. I have been meaning to ask you: my parish is organizing a spiritual retreat over the weekend. Would you like to accompany me? It is right outside the city, in a secluded convent. We would be surrounded by nature, away from the bustle of everyday life. Please say you will come. It would be two days of just the two of us, sharing a room, going on walks, discussing religion, participating in outdoor activities…"

Clarke stopped listening after the shared room. Two whole days of Lexa all to herself; even better, sleeping in the same room—the same bed, if Clarke had any say in it.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!"


	32. Chapter 32

Clarke floated back home that evening, feeling light and so loved it filled her wholly, which happened every time she spent quality time with her favorite brunette. Their afternoon together provided her with enough emotional fulfillment to last her until the weekend—and what a glorious weekend it was going to be! In her wildest dreams, Clarke hadn't come close to imagining getting the opportunity that Lexa had just offered her on a silver platter: forty-eight hours of uninterrupted, unsupervised access to the inhabitant of her fantasies. So much could happen in forty-eight hours… so many eye-opening conversations…and actions. Clarke had to stop at her doorstep and actively calm herself down; the last thing she wanted was to drop dead from overexcitement before their big day! _Days!_ she reminded herself. Nothing could cast a shadow on her euphoric state. Or so she thought. Until she opened the front door and was met with two sets of eyes that were far from pleased.

"Clarke! Why are you home so late?"

"You don't own me! I'm an adult now! I can do whatever I freakin want! You both suck!"

Her attempt at lightening the mood fell flat. Her parents obviously weren't playing Parenthood Police. Her father took pity on her though, and decided to deflate the tense situation.

"Honey, this is rather serious. You're not in any trouble or anything, but we're a bit worried about you. Ever since you've grown closer to your new friend…"

"Her name's Lexa."

Clarke surprised herself with the sharp tone of her brutal interruption. This was her dad she was talking to; the person she loved the most in the whole wide world, the person she knew best. She was sure he didn't mean any disrespect. Yet her need to stand up for her friend was stronger than reason.

Jake looked taken aback as well. But he recovered quickly and carried on.

"Right. Ever since you became close with Lexa, you've changed. Mostly to the better, and we're thankful to her for that. But you're leaving soon, and we don't want anything to stand in the way of what you spent years building—going against our wishes in the process. We may not have always seen eye to eye when it came to your future career, but you've managed to win us over with your determination and your devotion to your art. So you can understand us not wanting you to throw it all away over a girl."

Clarke might have been imagining things, but she felt like her dad had emphasized Lexa's gender, as if to convey the futility of "wasting" her future over someone of her own sex.

"Oh, and if I were to 'throw it all away', for, say, Bellamy, that would be ok? Because he has man parts? Really dad, I never took you for a misogynist!"

"And I never took you for a feminist! Bellamy is a douchebag, you and I both know that. But that's not what I meant anyway. I don't want you to put your future at risk for anyone. I would hope that you know me well enough to know I don't discriminate against people based on their gender! Wait a second, are you saying you feel about your fr…Lexa the way you would feel about a boy?"

Abby, who had been sitting this one out and witnessing the father-daughter exchange from the benches, took this as her cue to get involved in the conversation.

"Jake, this isn't the time…"

"Yes."

Clarke didn't want to lie. She wouldn't—couldn't—deny the most certain thing in her life. She loved Lexa; was in full-blown, all-consuming love with her. It felt good to acknowledge it; not in a tearful, fearful confession like the one she made to her mom. In the empowering, sure way with which she was now informing her dad, like it were the most mundane thing in the world for her to have fallen for her quirky—to put it mildly—asocial, stubborn, know-it-all best friend. So she reiterated the fact.

"I'm in love with Lexa. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

Her tone was so final, intimidating even, that if her parents had something to say about her statement, they chose to keep their opinion to themselves, both smiling their agreement.

"As for my future, I trust you two know me well enough to know that I'm not fickle—at least not when it comes to my passion. And yes, I feel as, if not more passionate about Lexa, but I'm well aware of how…delicate our current situation is, and how long—if ever—it would take her to be in a real relationship with me. So I'm not gonna sit around in my room and wait for her to realize her feelings, while missing out on the one thing I've always wanted. If you can both just chill and let me deal with my stuff, you'll see that you raised a responsible adult who knows what she's doing."

She could sense that the old folks' defenses were weakened, so she went in for the kill.

"And who would like to enjoy her last weeks with her first love. Which is why she will be going with said love to a religious retreat over the weekend. If I don't hear any objections in three seconds, I'm going! 3, 2, 1. Sold! To the lucky blonde who has the best parents!"

With that, Clarke left her stunned parents before they snapped out of their shock, eager to head to her room and share her victory with the object of her affection.

Meanwhile, Lexa was going through a similar battle, but with a much less positive outcome. As soon as Clarke had gone home, her grandmother barged into her room, demanding the foreign being be removed from her house.

"Grandmother, I would hardly call myself 'foreign'. Some might say I am 'quirky', but that is the extent of it."

Lexa didn't usually crack jokes. However, these were desperate times, and she hoped her unusual behavior would distract her grandmother from her crusade. But Gertrude was on a mission: she wanted to a) get rid of the cat and b) rid her granddaughter of the blonde hurricane tearing through her world, once and for all. Clarke had done enough damage already, and even though she genuinely liked the girl—and her mother—she had to draw the line at feline presents. Disregarding her granddaughter's humorous retort, she launched in an open assault.

"Lexa my dear. I'm talking about the cat. And more importantly, the one who gave it to you. You know that God has given every one of His creatures a purpose. I believe your friend…"

"Her name is Clarke."

Lexa had never interrupted her grandmother before, a clear sign of disrespect in her book; but wasn't that what the older woman was doing to Clarke? She couldn't tolerate anyone being discourteous to her friend.

Gertrude chose to pick her battles, and let her granddaughter's insolence go.

"I believe Clarke has served her purpose. It might be time to move on."

Lexa disliked arguments. They led to raised voices, which were enough of an aggression by themselves, but also led to physical violence. She didn't care for violence. So she wanted her altercation with her grandmother to be as brief as possible.

"Grandmother. I love Clarke. I will _never_ move on from her. If you fail to see the benefits of her presence in my life, then your obtuseness is rendering you blind; I feel sorry for you. Pardon me, I will be retiring to my room now."

"It's your love that's worrying me! If you'll just…"

Lexa was long gone. She slammed the door—the tachycardia that the brutal sound caused her was a small price to pay. She was so upset that, before realizing what she was doing, she texted Clarke.

10:06 p.m.

Parents suck.

10:06 p.m.

Tru dat! r u ok? :s

10:06 p.m.

I will be. I am looking forward to our weekend away together.

10:07 p.m.

me tooooooo :D :D :D

10:07 p.m.

I still do not understand your use of colons, but I am happy too. Sleep well, Clarke.


	33. Chapter 33

That Wednesday night, Lexa didn't say her usual evening prayer. Nothing about her life was usual these days, and she wanted her one-sided conversation with God to reflect that. So, even though she usually made it a point to never ask Him for anything—she would feel selfish if she did—she made an exception for her upcoming life event.

"Lord, I beg of you, make it so I have my weekend with Clarke. Do not let anything or anyone get in the way. I have never asked you for anything, nor will I ever again. But this is the most important thing to me. She will be leaving soon. This might be my last chance to spend meaningful moments with her. I need these moments to get me through her absence. Please Lord, I promise I will be kinder, more charitable, more pious than I have so far. Just grant me this one wish, that is all I ask of you. Amen."

With that emotional plea, she fell into a disturbed sleep during which she dreamed either of joyful moments with her sky princess at the retreat, or about missing it and the tears that would flow at the devastating fact. Which is why she woke up crying, and walked around with heavy feet and a lump in her throat until Friday night, when her grandmother finally signed her permission slip. Clarke's parents had signed hers as early as Thursday morning, and Lexa couldn't help but be impressed with her friend's persuasion techniques, when all she had to rely on were prayers. Luckily for her, she was going away with Clarke after all, so she didn't have to doubt her faith.

Naturally, Lexa spent Friday night staring at the ceiling, counting down the minutes until the eagerly awaited morning. Hence, she slept on Clarke's shoulder the whole bus ride. She woke up upon their arrival to the convent, and, still dazed, followed the small group into the dormitories. The room she would share with Clarke was as small as you'd expect it to be, with two single beds the size of Lexa's, separated by a bedside table on which stood a lamp and two bibles. The minuscule private bathroom was to the right of the room entrance. That was pretty much it.

"We won't be spending a lot of time in here will we!" said Clarke in a slightly annoyed voice.

"Why would we."

Lexa really couldn't think of any use for a bedroom other than studying and sleeping, and they would be doing none of the former, and very few of the latter—she wanted to spend as many waking moments as she could manage with her favorite person; she would sleep after her departure, when she would only get to see her in her dreams. She shook the somber thoughts out of her mind, and must have actually shaken her head, because Clarke was giving her a quizzical look. She simply shrugged her shoulders and left the room to continue the tour of the premises.

Lexa's statement-question got Clarke worried. Was her chaste friend really not aware of what the two of them could do alone together in a room? She had been sensing that Lexa was realizing their mutual attraction, and coming to terms with it. Had she been reading the situation wrong? And how could she risk a move, without being absolutely sure that her advances wouldn't be rebuffed? _This isn't good. At all. And to think that we could've spent the weekend at the treehouse with the kitten instead of in this dreary mausoleum where nothing's gonna happen!_ She quickly chased her black thoughts away, determined to still enjoy the time she was getting with her love.

The girls spent the day engaged in lively conversation. They managed to dodge all the planned activities, escaping to a nearby cemetery Lexa had spotted as soon as the bus entered the property—she had an eye for this particular landscape; she loved cemeteries. Tightly tucked under a blanket Clarke had borrowed from their room, they lay against a majestic oak tree, talking about this and that.

"You've never had peanut butter! How is that possible! I'd think even Anya and the gang would've tried it!"

"I do not like how peanuts are shaped. Even worse, that Mr. Peanut man with his monocle, I found him terrifying as a child. Thus, I do not consume that ingredient."

"You're weird. But I get it, I hate tomatoes because they remind me of a bleeding head…"

"I understand."

"So there's nothing I can say to change your mind? You're really gonna do that to her?"

"I am not doing anything to her. It is merely a name, Clarke. You must not attach such importance to it. Plus, what is wrong with New-Kitty? She does resemble the original Kitty, and is new. I like self-explanatory names."

"Good thing you didn't get one. 'weird-literal-self-proclaimed-commander-girl' doesn't really roll off the tongue does it? Fine. Don't give me that look! New-Kitty it is."

"With a hyphen."

"Of course."

"Who is your favorite person in the world?"

 _You._ "I love everyone in my life equally."

"Oh come on! You love me as much as our principal?"

"No. You are right. I prefer her to you. She is much less talkative and much more in awe of me."

"Haha! You'd think when you finally joked, it'd be a funny one. But I get why you don't crack jokes. Because you want to spare us your humor!"

"It takes one to know one."

The expression was clearly being misused. Lexa must have heard it at school and was saying it for the first time. However, Clarke recognized the invitation to play and happily obliged.

"Ooh so this is how you wanna play it! Well then…"

She moved fast. Before Lexa could fend her off, she was straddling the already laughing brunette. And when Clarke actually started tickling her, her friend laughed so hard tears started coming down her cheeks. So the blonde deemed she had done enough. But instead of getting off her, she slid down her body and rested her head on Lexa's left shoulder. She could feel the agitated girl's heartbeat pick up its pace, which made her think—hope—that maybe she hadn't been misinterpreting the situation after all. The sun was setting and they would soon have to join the others for an early dinner before retiring to their room, so it was now or never. Clarke had to have some sort of guarantee that her roommate for the night was on the same page as her.

"Lex? Can I ask you a personal question?"

"All your questions are personal. You address them to my person and they are about me. You never ask me about outer space or politics. So why do you feel the need for my permission to ask this particular one."

"Sorry! It's a silly habit humans have of starting a conversation, instead of bluntly asking a delicate question! I won't do it again."

The sarcasm was lost on Lexa, who simply nodded and waited for the infamous question to be asked.

"Do you get…umm…urges?" Clarke's eyes were begging her friend to understand what she was saying, without her having to explain. _How awkward would that be!_

"I do my best to predict my physical needs and tend to them before they become urges."

 _This is going well!_ "Ok… But don't you sometimes have overwhelming needs? Like to hold someone, maybe caress them… maybe more? Her voice was squeaky and she was sweating, but Clarke couldn't back down now.

Lexa's face got so red it was glowing. Luckily Clarke's lying position prevented her from seeing it. She knew exactly what the blonde was alluding to. She was asexual, not ignorant. But more importantly, she was restrained when it came to the subject of sex, so she didn't know if she should open up to the girl taking deep breaths in her arms.

"Clarke. I am human. I do feel what every human feels. I just suspect it is not as frequent or as intense as what other teenagers experience. I do get thoughts. But I have never felt the desire to explore or act on them. I hope this answers your question efficiently."

Clarke was overjoyed. This was the best answer she could hope for under the circumstances. If Lexa had been thinking about physical intimacy, then what has been stopping her from acting on her fantasies was the right incentive; the right person. Enter Clarke. She was going to give her attractive friend exactly what she needed.

"Very efficient yes! Thank you! Come on, it's dinner time!"

Lexa didn't understand what Clarke was so excited about. It was dinner; she expected it to be a frugal one. And she had just told her that she was asexual. She thought the physically inclined girl would be sad to hear about it. Maybe she had been reading her wrong when it came to sex. Maybe Clarke was more like her than she realized. After all, the blonde goddess hadn't been with anyone, or even expressed interest in a boy, ever since they became friends. This made Lexa feel surprisingly good, and she was suddenly as thrilled as Clarke. So they linked their arms together and skipped to the chapel for a quick evening prayer—they had missed enough prayers during the day—before heading for dinner.


	34. Chapter 34

Back in their room after dinner, Lexa was addressing the shower situation.

"You can go in first if you like. I do not mind waiting. But where will we get dressed. There is not enough room to change clothes in there. I suggest the other person wait outside the room. But that would not work for whoever goes in first, because she cannot go outside in her slippers and pajamas. Maybe she can stand facing the wall and cover her eyes like children do when they play Hind and Go Seek."

Clarke was tickled by Lexa's innocence, as always. But this time, the feeling was tainted with dread; if her bashful friend didn't want to even catch a glimpse of her naked body, what hope did she have of getting intimate with her? Was Lexa being a gentleman, or was she really that uncomfortable with anything remotely physical?

"Lex, _mon cœur_ , don't worry about it. It's nothing either of us hasn't seen before! Plus, we can turn off the lights. The room would be plunged in darkness; we'll barely make out the other's silhouette! I promise not to… Why are you smiling?"

"You called me ' _mon cœur'_."

Lexa's grin was so wide that it overshadowed her other facial features. Clarke decided it was time for phase one of operation "Get Lexa to loosen up".

"Ah well… I was looking for a term of endearment that would be just yours… There's nothing common about you or my feelings for you, so I thought a 'baby' or a 'honey' wouldn't cut it… That and French is the language you love the most! And you really are that, you know: 'my heart'."

Clarke took a step toward Lexa to cup her face, then decided against it—it was too rushed, she should wait until they had showered and got into bed. She took her hand instead, kissed it chastely, then went into the bathroom.

It was barely nine in the evening when lights went out in the rooms—convent rules. With a few candles as their only source of light, Lexa and Clarke couldn't do much, beside lie in their respective beds and talk. Yet for some reason, they were out of things to say. The air was growing thick, and each girl could feel the other stealing glances of her; their eyes even caught each other a couple of times. After twenty minutes of awkward silence and fleeting looks, Clarke decided it was time for phase two of her covert operation. She cleared her throat and went for it.

"Hey Lex, want me to give you a back rub? It'd help pass the time!"

Lexa was about to acquiesce—she loved her friend's touch; even craved it most times. But something about the setting, the dimmed candlelight and the too-tight-for-comfort bed seemed unfitting for physical proximity. Furthermore, the sight of a half-naked wet blonde coming out of the shower not fifteen minutes ago had bothered her in a very unexpected way. She was still getting flashes of water drops trickling down Clarke's forehead, her rosy cheeks, her plump lips, her slender neck, before disappearing between her… She stopped herself just then, choosing to move on to another image. The blonde's soaked state was a sight very similar to the one Lexa witnessed all those years ago, when a drenched girl knocked at her door. She racked her brain for memories of how she had felt in that situation, to no avail. However, she was pretty sure that she was feeling very differently about it this time around. So instead of accepting Clarke's offer, she surprised both of them by feigning exhaustion, wishing her aghast looking friend good night and turning her back to her.

 _To hell with operation "Get Lexa to loosen up". If anything, all it did was make her even more of a prude than she already was! I must've done something wrong… Stupid Clarke with your stupid hormones and your stupid plans! No more schemes until graduation. I gotta give the poor girl room to breathe. Who knows, maybe when we get closer to my trip, she'll be less cold. Maybe our first time is meant to be goodbye sex…_

Trying not too feel to dejected—and rejected—Clarke mirrored the brunette's gesture and turned away from her sleeping form. She hoped sleep would come soon and put an end to a completely useless night.

Lexa wished her bed was bigger. She who usually enjoyed the coziness of a form-fitting mattress, currently felt like tossing and turning, which was impossible in the box she was in. She didn't understand why she was so restless. She had a good—make that great—day with her best friend; she had another one to look forward to. And yet, she was terribly bothered. She couldn't help feeling like it wasn't enough: the meaningful talks, the playful banter, the deep looks, the soothing caresses… they weren't enough. But what more was there? What more could she possibly want from her friend? The answer eluded her. As did slumber. Not baring to be left alone with her thoughts a moment longer, she got out of her bed and into Clarke's, not fully aware of what she was doing.

The blonde was fast asleep. Lexa carefully lay beside her, grazing her back, leaning on her right elbow, and very lightly resting her left hand on the sleeping girl's upper arm. She contemplated waking her, then remembered how strange their time together in the room had been so far and thought better of it. But she couldn't stay still, she had to do something. The jitters she had been mildly feeling so far were getting out of control. Her breath was growing shallow. She was panting and sweating, deeply, as if she had just run a marathon. Her palms were becoming sticky, like her hair, and her shirt was now damp. In a couple of minutes, her heart rate seemed to have doubled, and she was feeling an unfamiliar tickling in her lower abdomen. Lexa was terrified. Was she going into cardiac arrest? She remembered that her mom had a weak heart; as did her grandmother and two of her aunts. If she was to make it through the night, she would have to go see a cardiologist at the soonest. But what if she wasn't destined to live another day? What if she only had a few moments left? Should she alert Clarke, so she could die in her arms? How traumatizing would it be! She couldn't do that to her. She decided she would kiss her goodbye and hold her until she either fell asleep or drew her last breath. She dove in to kiss her exposed cheek, when Clarke suddenly stirred and turned on her back. Lexa was now mere inches from slightly parted lips, beckoning her to come closer. So she did, until her lips brushed Clarke's, and she felt such a jolt of electricity that she pushed off the bed and walked backwards until she hit her own mattress. She was still feeling an electrical current run through her and wondered if she had really been electrocuted, when it hit her: she had just kissed Clarke. Her friend. A girl. Her sleeping girl friend. She had taken advantage of an unconscious person. She had abused the trust of the most important person in her life. How could she? Was this the new her? A reckless, selfish girl who simply took whatever she wanted without any consideration or regard to the other party involved? What was she saying? She didn't _want_ Clarke. That was absurd. The promiscuous blonde with her suggestive questions and the tales of her past exploits had clouded Lexa's judgment. She was putting ideas in her head—bad, sinful ideas that had no foundation and needed to be nipped in the bud. If this is what Clarke's influence was, she had to put a stop to it. A switch went off in Lexa's head. She was instantly calmer; her mind cleared, her body relaxed and her feelings dissipated. It reminded her of how vampires would switch off their humanity on the show she used to binge-watch with Clarke. It almost made her smirk. But she wasn't allowing herself to show—or feel— any emotion anymore. She got back into bed and fell soundly asleep.


	35. Chapter 35

Clarke woke up at what seemed like dawn, judging from the dimmed rosy light outside. She was glad to have woken up so early, to make the best of every moment she had left with Lexa. Who knew when she would have alone time with her again… She thought back at the previous day, how wonderful it had been to be around her friend; how contentment had turned into frustration at night. Oh how she blamed her nerves and cursed her cowardice; she had high hopes for that evening. It had been her only chance, and she blew it. Unless… She turned around to face Lexa's bed, intent on getting up and joining her, to give her a propre wake-up call, but all she saw were empty sheets. Immediately on her feet, Clarke inspected the other bed: a set of pajamas—the ones Lexa slept in— were carefully folded and placed on its side. And since there wasn't any noise coming from the bathroom, Clarke deduced that the early bird had readied herself for the day ahead and already left the room. Deeply disappointed but too tired to do anything about it, she went back to sleep, dejected that her latest ruse hadn't gotten her anywhere.

Next time she woke up, the sun was now high in the sky, and Clarke feared she had wasted too much time sleeping. She hurriedly got ready and went looking for her friend. A thirty-minute search in all the places they had been to the previous day led her to the Mother Superior's office, to ask the convent's highest authority where the missing brunette could be.

The nun was everything Clarke imagined her to be; someone right out of The Sound of Music—which happened to be her favorite movie; one she had unsuccessfully tried to force Lexa into watching. Her daydream about her absentee tutor made her miss the Superior's last sentence; the one where she revealed Lexa's whereabouts. So she had to ask her to repeat herself.

"I understand how this might come as a shock to you, my child, seeing as how Lexa came here to be with you. But the Lord works in mysterious ways, as we all know, and His call has to be answered. So I suggest you spend your day in prayer and leave your friend to her calling."

At that, the nun got up and promptly exited the office, leaving a stunned Clarke trying to piece together what had been said in order to figure out what had happened to Lexa.

She went to church next, hoping she would find the pious girl attending Sunday mass. Which she did. Lexa stood in the front row, with a halo of light all around her. She seemed so unattainable, so far away that in that instant, Clarke inexplicably felt like she had lost her. In the urgency of the moment, her body moved of its own accord. But before she could reach out to touch Lexa, bring her back, take her away from this alternate reality that didn't involve them, a hand grabbed her right shoulder and dragged her out of church. Finally able to turn around, she was met with the familiar face of a serene yet determined looking monk, who solemnly informed her that Lexa had taken a vow of silence earlier that morning. All that was left for her to do was bide her time until her parents came to collect her. Crestfallen, Clarke walked away in a daze, her disbelief soon turning into dismay. She made up scenarios in which the clergy was conspiring against her burgeoning love, where the entire convent had been turned into demons on the prowl for a virgin sacrifice—which Lexa happened to still be. If only she had been valiant enough to lay with her now lost love!

The rest of the day was spent coming up with less and less likely explanations, and more and more convoluted plans to save her friend. Around 5 p.m., as she was waiting in the garden for her parents to pick her up, she saw her again—even more of a vision this time around; even more glowing, even less approachable. Clarke didn't know whether it was the sunset light casting a holy luminosity on her magnificent features, or if Lexa really was at peace. Either way, she finally admitted to herself right then and there that from this day on, things would be different; even if she couldn't fathom why or how much things had changed in so little time. She simply had to admit defeat. So she did. Right on cue, she heard thunder, then water was coming down from the sky and meshing together with the liquid coming down from her eyes. She found it ironic, how much this situation reminded her of her rainy encounter with Lexa. That day, she had been out crying over how lonely she felt. The weight of being an only child and having so many expectations to manage without the support of any sibling would often get to her, growing up. On that fateful stormy afternoon, she went out against her mother's recommendations, resolved to find a friend—someone special, who would be all hers—or die trying in the tempest . Fate had led her to Lexa, which was all the sign she needed. Ever since that day, she never doubted their bond; not really. Not until this moment, looking at the celestial incarnation before her. And now all she could do was cry, and hope it didn't mean what she knew in her gut it meant—that whatever they had was over.

The car ride home was filled with an oppressive silence. Abby and Jake sensed their daughter's plight but chose not to interrogate her about it; she looked like she could collapse at any time. Back in the safety of her room, the tears she had repressed in the presence of her parents now flowed freely. She threw herself at her pillow, convincing herself that she could still smell Lexa's scent on it, and drew deep breaths until her oxygenated body collapsed and she fell into a disturbed sleep.

Lexa didn't show up at school on Monday, which Clarke was begrudgingly expecting. But when the better part of the week went by and there was still no sign of the brunette, she started to panic. She tried calling her cell, her grandmother's, their house; her calls remained unanswered. She got Abby to join in, hoping an adult number would trigger a response, but the result was the same. On Wednesday afternoon, she dropped by the Woods' home, knocked on their door until her knuckles hurt and it got dark out. She even contemplated breaking into Lexa's room, which was plunged in darkness and seemingly uninhabited, before giving up and going home. She cried herself to sleep every single night, and roamed the school hallways like a ghost. Like her parents, her friends didn't ask her what was wrong—they knew. They offered up general words of wisdom meant to explain the unexplainable, hugs meant to comfort and plans meant to distract. But nothing could fill the Lexa-sized hole in her heart; it only grew bigger and deeper with each passing day.

By Friday, she had gone through denial, anger, bargaining—she tried asking a God she didn't believe in to bring Lexa back, pledging her eternal faith in return—depression, and was on her way to accepting her friend's change of heart, when the unthinkable happened.

People never really think about bad things happening to them; they hear things on the news, on the bus, in gatherings: this woman got cheated out of her money by her own son, this girl was diagnosed with terminal cancer at eight, this neighbor died of a heart attack in her sleep on the eve of her wedding, this man slaughtered his wife in cold blood in front of their two baby daughters… Clarke always heard tragic news and felt sympathetic, but never empathetic; she never wondered how she would deal with tragedy, because she was at an age where young people feel immortal, especially if, like her, they were lucky enough not to experience any hardship early on in life. She was privileged that way, without realizing it. Her parents had sheltered her from all the bad things out there, which made her in no way equipped to deal with what happened that Saturday morning.

She was in bed, trying to motivate herself into getting up and facing another day without her love, and failing miserably, when the landline rang. As it had been doing all week, her heart quickly adopted a thunderous rhythm, and she was hoping against all hope that it would be Gertrude, asking if Lexa could come over. Instead, Clarke heard her mother's voice take on a tone she wasn't accustomed to. Before she knew it, Abby was in her room, tears streaming down her face. It was Raven. She had been in a hit-and-run. Clarke didn't react to the news. Bad things didn't happen to the ones she loved. Hence, what her mom was saying couldn't be true. She couldn't help but think that she was following a very Lexa logic, which made her feel oddly connected to the absent girl. So she stuck with her reasoning, and was about to get back into bed, when Abby grabbed her shoulders and roughly shook her, repeating what she had just told her. Through the violent tremors, she heard the words Raven, accident and ICU, and this time around, her mind was too busy complaining about her mom's physical assault—the first and only time Abby ever treated her daughter with any semblance of violence—to keep the words from seeping through to her conscience.

Just like that, reality crept up on her. She wasn't shielded from catastrophes anymore. The rest of the day was a blur. The stricken family, the helpless doctors… Then, Sunday morning, the devastating verdict: Raven's left leg, which had suffered the most from her fall after the reckless driver knocked her over, had endured too much nerve damage, and had to be amputated. Clarke wished there was a manual to guide her through the yet unexperienced feelings she was now going through. The absurdity of it all, the injustice, and the pain; an unending amount of it that she could feel everywhere. But above all, she was mad; at the monster who had run over a girl and left her there, at the medical experts who couldn't save her friend's leg—her beautiful, force of nature of a friend who loved running, and who would never again be able to pick Clarke up like she used to and twirl her around. However, none of those guilty parties came close to the one who had wronged Clarke the most; the only person whose presence would've brought the distraught girl some comfort, and whose absence she felt more keenly than anything else. Clarke needed Lexa, more than she needed to breathe; and Lexa wasn't there. Did she even know what was going on, or was she too busy being in her own little world of light and silence? Clarke's anger was quickly evolving into full-blown fury. How dare Lexa turn her back on her like that? How could she get over everything they had said, did, felt, so easily? And if Lexa could do it, why couldn't she? Clarke took all of her questions, her longing, her unadulterated torment, and turned them into one life goal: to make Lexa pay.


	36. Chapter 36

Reflecting on her past week at the convent, Lexa searched her wide vocabulary for an adjective that would sum it up, before opting for "uneventful". It was the best thing she could have asked for. For the first time in years, she had spent an entire week not thinking of anything but her faith and her future. She was coming home a changed woman.

Over the past week, she had grown accustomed to listing all the blessings she was thankful for: her grandmother, her faith, her intelligence, her health, her cat, her supportive teachers and principal, her trusty old bike. Now that the retreat was over, it was time to add a handful of meaningful encounters and wise words to her list. The Mother Superior for one, was a figure Lexa wasn't likely to forget. When the panicked girl knocked at the nun's bedroom door at dawn that Sunday, demanding to be sent back home immediately, the religious woman didn't so much as bat an eye. She serenely guided the lost soul to a chapel ensconced inside a millennial grotto, a ten-minute walk away from the convent, where they joined hands and prayed silent, internal prayers, until it was clear to Lexa what she had to do. She shall remain quiet, and dive deep into herself to purify her being from all dirty thoughts and feelings that had been festering there for years. It was time for a purge; Lexa was ready. She didn't feel scared or hesitant. As a matter of fact, she was devoid of any feeling, but that of certainty: she simply knew this was what she was meant to do. But the day hadn't been without its difficulties; its temptations. During morning mass, she had a moment of weakness during which she felt that terrifying electrical current that had run through her the night before; but only for a moment, after the church door had been flung open and some fuss could be heard. Still, she forced herself to look ahead, ignoring whatever was transpiring behind her, and soon enough the sensation was gone. Then in the afternoon, on her way to the chapel for a sunset prayer, she felt it again, along with a pair of eyes boring into her, threatening to awaken emotions that weren't buried deep enough yet. But armed with her faith and her legendary stubbornness, she managed to break the spell and all but run away from the menacing presence. The rest of the week had been much easier to go through. She spent it reading holy texts, writing her grandmother and planning the coming weeks, and the impending start of med school. For any other silly life plans made under a malicious influence were long forgotten.

And now, on her way back home, Lexa was satisfied with the week's events—or lack thereof. She was confident she was prepared for whatever came next; sure she could face it with her newfound neutrality; the regained composure and placidity she had so dearly missed. She felt like her good old self again; only better, because now, she was content to be herself, no longer pining for more. No longer pining for anyone.

Her only worry was whether her cat would be there to greet her. She had left the little thing a whole week, all alone, with a woman who despised her. Allowing herself to feel empathy for the non human creature, she tried imagining how hard it must have been for the cat to be all alone in an unfriendly territory, facing a new and terrifying experience without any support. The thought made her heart ache, and she cried warm tears for her beloved friend, whom she felt she had failed. But half an hour later, she had her wrapped in her arms, purring and licking her face, and all was right with the world again.

Luckily for Lexa, Gertrude didn't open any touchy subjects or make any statements. True to her minimalist self, her grandmother only asked her what she wanted for dinner, before leaving her to play with her feline companion.

Over dinner, the situation remained as quiet and controlled. However, the older woman looked like she was struggling with something, and Lexa knew what it was. Her past was bound to catch up with her sooner or later. She would rather be done with it, so she could tie up loose ends and move on for good. So she encouraged her grandmother to open up, praying the conversation would be brief and light.

"Grandmother. You have something to ask me about the retreat. Please do so; for I only intend to address the matter this one time. Then I want your word that we will not be bringing up the subject again."

"Lexa dear, you know my feelings about the 'matter', so you don't need to ask me twice not to discuss it from now on. But Abby has been calling, and there was an incident yesterday involving the Reyes girl…"

"I have no desire to know anything relating to Raven—or anyone else. Ask me the question that is on your mind."

"What happened at the convent? What did Clarke do? Did she hurt you in any way? I knew that girl was up to no good. If she inflicted any harm upon you, I can get a restraining order; I have done it before and I can do it again."

"Grandmother. There is no need to get carried away. Nothing happened. I simply had an epiphany. That friendship was toxic and I decided I no longer want it."

"I'll drink to that!"

Gertrude emptied her glass of red wine in one long sip, while Lexa tried to get her breathing under control. The mention of _her_ name drove her body and her mind into chaos. She didn't even want to think about what would happen to her when she eventually saw _her_ at school. There were still a few weeks of classes left. Since she had already been accepted in premed at a prestigious college a couple of hours away from her town, she thought maybe she didn't need to attend school anymore, until graduation. But her rule abiding, study loving, orderly side won out; she would have to face her demons, in the shape of a larger than life blonde whom Lexa had been working hard to forget. But despite her best efforts, she apparently hadn't been successful in eradicating the memories that were now flooding her mind, after the mere mention of _her_ name. She wouldn't give in though. She knew she would be tested; she also knew she had her faith, now stronger than ever, to get through hardship. So Lexa chose to look past all of her souvenirs and the corresponding feelings, and vowed to focus all her energy on one purpose: to make Clarke a thing of the past.


	37. Chapter 37

Thursday May the 19th was the penultimate day of classes. Lexa would be giving her valedictorian speech in exactly 24 days. She had just finished crossing off another number on her calendar separating her from her big day, when her phone rang; the principal's secretary, asking to see her upon her arrival at school. Something to do with graduation. Lexa tried to swallow the lump that instantly formed in her throat. She couldn't lose the honor bestowed upon her; that speech was the only thing she had been living for for the past ten days.

With a heavy heart and heavier steps, Lexa made her way to the principal's office like a dead man walking. The chic-as-usual woman perked up noticeably at the sight of her favorite student. The brunette, back to her old self, was as unresponsive as ever. So the principal recited her tirade uninterrupted.

"My dear girl! To think this will be the last time I call you to my office! I wish it were for a less… touchy matter, but I'm afraid I have yet another favor to ask you. You did so well with the last one! Clarke's grades have gone up drastically. And coincidentally, she's been getting into much less trouble lately! That is when she was still attending school… As I'm sure you're aware, your friend has been staying by Ms. Rayes' side, nursing her back to health, so to speak. They've been studying together… I was actually surprised to learn you haven't tutored her since Raven's accident. Clarke told me you've been too busy preparing your novitiate? following a life-changing religious retreat? I hope she was kidding… You're way too young, with a bright future ahead of you… But I digress. The reason I asked to see you is, the school would like to show Raven our support, to salute her courage during the hard times she's going through. Originally, we thought we could ask her to give the end-of-year speech—not to worry, we wouldn't dream of asking you to give up what's rightfully yours. We just thought you could give it together. Unfortunately, Raven won't be well enough to go out in public by mid-June, so she won't attend her graduation. Nevertheless, her friend and current nurse will! Since you two have become close, you wouldn't mind sharing the valedictorian speech with Clarke, would you? Raven would see it live on her computer screen! It's the least we can do for the girl… Don't you think?"

Of course she was meant to share her newly appointed special moment with Clarke. Ever since she entered her life, the blonde always ended up being involved in all of Lexa's landmarks… She wasn't even surprised at the current turn of events. With a nod and the smallest of smiles, she agreed to come together with her ex-pupil one last time.

Over the past ten days, Clarke had her hands full tending to Raven while trying her best to pass chemistry, and the rest of her classes, without even attending any of them. Luckily for her, the principal was taking her friend's ordeal to heart and provided both of them with their own chemistry teacher, a young undergrad who had his sight set on teaching at their high school one day. But no amount of work could occupy her enough to forget her vow; she was out for Lexa's blood, and was calmly plotting her vengeance. She had decided she would strike during graduation: the treacherous girl had made it abundantly clear how strongly she felt about her valedictorian speech. Though not exactly looking forward to it, Lexa didn't take the responsibility lightly. After agreeing to it, she had been writing the speech for months, often running new versions by Clarke, obsessing over her performance, even taking online enunciation courses to ensure it all went perfectly. Clarke couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to hurt Lexa. All she needed for her devious plan to work was a buff simpleton to "kidnap" Lexa and lock her in the girls' bathroom minutes before her big moment, thus making her miss it. The hulky guy—she had settled on Roan, a senior for three years now whose stature rivaled that of WWE wrestlers—would also steal the cold-hearted harpy's speech so that Clarke herself could give it instead, while she watched helplessly from the sidelines. It was the cruelest plan she could devise; exactly what Lexa deserved.

Friday morning— _23 days until graduation_ , Clarke thought as she crossed off another day standing between her and justice—she got a call informing her that the principal needed to see her. She really didn't feel like going to school, especially not on the last day of classes, which was bound to be nostalgic and festive; she didn't feel like being either. But she couldn't turn down the gracious woman who had helped Raven and her so much. She took her time getting ready though, hoping she would get there late enough that everyone would already be in class. Then she wouldn't have to run into anyone; namely, a heartless brunette who had ripped her open and left her for dead without so much as a word. _23 days to go_ , she reminded herself, so that the thought of her day of reckoning, for which she had been living since "the incident", would wash away those of warm eyes and warmer embraces from another lifetime.

Lexa felt horrible about missing her last French class of the year—ever. But she couldn't risk her plan going south; couldn't trust that brute Roan whom she had asked to accost Clarke and escort her to the girls' bathroom, unharmed. She had insisted on that point, since Roan seemed anything but gentle; yet Lexa couldn't think of anyone else to get the job done. She knew Clarke wouldn't come easily. And she needed to talk to her before her former friend met with the principal and turned down her proposition, like Lexa was sure she would. What had transpired between them was done; it was ancient history. People grow apart, friendships end. Lexa just did what was best for her. She let her head decide, not her heart. She trusted Clarke was aware of all of that, and harbored no hard feelings toward her. However, Lexa suspected the other girl wouldn't want to be around her, or share anything with her; Clarke had always been one to let her feelings cloud her judgment. But Raven deserved this recognition. She wouldn't let Clarke's stubbornness and self-entitlement stand in the way of that. So she did what she thought best: she asked the class bully to bring her Clarke, so she could reason with her and get her to cooperate. And now here she was, in the girls' bathroom, antsy and fidgeting, waiting for the delivery to be dropped off. Long, endless minutes later, the door flung open and Roan put down a screaming blonde mass he had been carrying over his shoulder before ironically bowing to Lexa and exiting the war zone.

When her feet first hit the floor, Clarke seemed disoriented. Her earlier shouting subsided, and she was left looking at Lexa in disbelief. Before she could regain her composure, and probably start screaming again, Lexa approached her disheveled classmate, and for the lack of better words, greeted her with a "Hello Clarke." After a brief pause, during which the blonde was still frozen, and looking at her with haggard eyes, she felt she should get to it, and not waste any time with unnecessary small talk.

"I am sorry. That it had to be this way. Madam principal told me we would be giving the valedictorian speech together. For Raven's sake. This is important, Clarke. I need you."

The last word seemed to register with Clarke who, in the blink of an eye, lunged at Lexa and before the astounded girl knew what hit her, a bestial form of her former friend had one hand around her throat as the other reached for her backpack. The shrieks coming out of her resembled a war cry, and her eyes were those of a madwoman. Without loosening her grip, Clarke pried the backpack open then reached for a stack of neatly folded papers with her teeth before throwing the bag against the wall. The violent sound made Lexa jump, which only served to egg Clarke on further. She let go of her victim's bruised neck and took a few steps toward the nearest stall. Kicking it open, she went inside, and out of Lexa's field of vision. Fearing the worst, the brunette followed her. As soon as their eyes locked, Clarke let out a screeching laugh that chilled Lexa to the bone.

"Good old predictable Commander. Writing her precious speech instead of typing it. I bet this is the only copy you've got, isn't it? You old-fashioned idiot! Sentimental only when it comes to your dumbass meaningless writing! I think I'll just flush these perfect little words down the toilet! Then you'll be left with nothing; just like me!"

Then she started laughing again. Her eyes though, told another story. They were imbued with unshed tears, and in them, Lexa could see the Clarke she knew, trapped inside, begging for her help. Seeing the strong, healthy, _happy_ girl, come undone before her, shattered Lexa's defenses. For the first time since their last encounter at the convent, realization hit her all at once. She had hurt her friend; more than she could've thought possible. Nothing she could say or do could take that back. She would have to live with it. But she couldn't let the other girl self-destruct in an attempt to get back at her. Lexa would do it for her; she would punish herself like she used to do as a little girl—not to get Clarke's attention, but to show her how sorry she really was. She had to make things right. She was feeling like she was losing her best friend all over again. It hurt. She let it. It was her penance. Furthermore, she would walk out on the two things she wanted the most. Before doing so, her eyes, turning apologetic, willed Clarke to listen to her.

"I am sorry. I never meant to turn you into this. The speech is yours. I will let the principal know that I am bowing out. I will have a printed out copy of what I prepared sent to you post-haste."

Her look told her lost friend all the rest; what she couldn't say, what she had to conceal, even from herself: the regret, the longing, and something else she couldn't yet formulate into words, for she had no frame of reference for it. Then she willed her feet to walk away from a now crying and howling Clarke who had crumbled on the bathroom floor. Things would get better for her with time, and with the knowledge that Lexa was hurting, too.


	38. Chapter 38

Lexa missed prom and graduation, which was fine by her—it had been her plan all along. The only reason for her to attend either events wanted nothing to do with her anymore, which was understandable; after all, she had hurt Clarke. With that knowledge, she had to make a few life adjustments. It felt odd, like a family breaking up; only Lexa knew she was the one to blame, and was more than happy to give full custody of all their favorite places to her former friend. It was more a formality than anything else, since Clarke's departure was imminent. A week after school was officially out, Gertrude, who still had weekly phone calls with Abby, thus being up to date on the happenings of the Griffin household, informed her granddaughter that Clarke would be leaving in three days. A gathering was being put together by her friends to bid her farewell. "It would be nice if you passed by and wished her a safe trip." It was all the encouragement Lexa needed.

At the party, Lexa spotted Clarke right away. She was glowing again, even if her light was dim. Maybe Lexa's absence from her life wasn't as keenly felt as the brunette had thought—hoped. She told herself she was happy about that. Yet her throat constricting and the tremor going through her body told her otherwise. Not able to stand being in such physical proximity with Clarke and acting like virtual strangers, she made her way to her for a final goodbye before exiting the party. When Clarke turned to face her with a blank expression and a small curt smile, Lexa thought that for once, words were of no use to her. She wrapped her arms around her sky princess and squeezed tightly, so tightly that she felt Clarke fighting to draw a breath. "Do you hug your grandmother like that?" It was the last thing Clarke said to her.

Lexa didn't understand the meaning behind that question until two weeks later. Clarke was gone, and with no virtual or real friends to speak of, Lexa chose to spend the hot summer nights curled up in bed, watching TV. On that fateful night, she woke up at 2 a.m. screaming. She had dreamt that she was falling off the Eiffel Tower with no one there to catch her. To take her mind off of the bizarre nightmare, she switched on her trusted television and absentmindedly flipped through channels until she saw something rather unsettling: in what clearly looked like a rerun, two women were screaming at each other so heatedly that it piqued Lexa's curiosity. Adultery was mentioned, which didn't make any sense to her, until the blonde lurched at the brunette and before Lexa knew what hit her, she was watching a sex scene—an angry sex scene—between the two women.

She spent the rest of the night crying, without really knowing why. The next day, she researched the show online, found an active forum, even found a user who lived close by. She spent the next week chatting with "FloorHeda" about mundane things, and the show of course, which she was all caught up on. What she didn't talk about though, was what it all meant for her. She took up her virtual friend's invitation to meet, and when, on the day of their "outing", Octavia showed up in her sports car to take her cruising, Lexa felt silly for not figuring it out sooner. Octavia was wearing much less makeup than usual, was being uncharacteristically nice to her, and even more uncharacteristically unsettled around her. Midway through the two-hour drive that took them to a lovely forest, Octavia grabbed her hand, then had to stop the car because a much paler Lexa thought she was going to throw up. She didn't, but Octavia didn't dare touch her again. As she lay in bed that night, Lexa started comparing the different occasions where she held hands with Clarke to what had occurred earlier that day. She couldn't deny that on at least a couple of them, the intimate contact hadn't been platonic. Though she felt very differently about holding Clarke's hand. She chose not to delve deeper into the subject.

She didn't really know why she agreed to see Octavia again, at the mysterious girl's house no less. What she did know was that, even if she wasn't ready to deal with herself, she wanted to at least understand what there was to deal with. Conversation was light as usual, until Octavia clumsily pressed her lips to Lexa's. Startled but curious, she let it happen. It felt pleasant; but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was supposed to be doing it with someone else. It only lasted a few seconds, and neither girl dwelled on it.

The third time she saw Octavia, her new friend had invited herself over to her place. Lexa didn't want to be alone with her, but Gertrude's glares and passive aggressive questions drove the girls to take shelter in Lexa's room. While she was thinking to herself that her grandmother really was asocial after all, and that Clarke was the exception—for both of them—Octavia kissed her again. Lexa didn't know if it was the fact that she couldn't deny something so concrete anymore, or if it was because she was thinking of Clarke in that moment, but something in her finally snapped, and before she knew it, tears were flowing. Octavia spent the evening comforting her, and they finally had the conversation they were both awaiting.

"Octavia, I'm glarke."

In her rush to explain to her friend that she was gay, and in love with Clarke, her mouth wasn't cooperative enough. Octavia laughed softly.

"Did you just make up a word for being gay for Clarke? It sounds a bit dorky, but I like it!"

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say, silly? I've known about both facts for quite some time now. Though I thought the Clarke thing was over, judging by how you guys left things, otherwise I would never have made a pass at you! But why are you crying?"

Lexa told her everything, from her lonely childhood to her repressed sexuality to Clarke. And that cursed weekend that changed everything. Talking to Octavia was cathartic. As she explained herself to the other girl, Lexa started seeing things for what they really were. She understood how her grandmother had nipped her sexuality in the bud, how she felt about Clarke and the extent of hurt she had caused her former friend. Because what Lexa was feeling for Clarke, the blonde was feeling it too; Lexa knew that now. Right on cue, Octavia finally spoke up.

"You know she loves you too, right? And unlike you, I believe she's well aware of her feelings. My guess is she was letting you figure out things on your own…"

"I hope you are right, I really do. And Clarke would be right too; I have so much to figure out…"

"Lucky for you, you've got all the time in the world! Or at least, a couple of months before you have to kiss your life goodbye and turn into the zombie they call a premed student. So process the hell out of this; just please don't let anything or anyone shame you back into the closet! I will personally make sure no one messes with you anyway."

Lexa laughed and they hugged it out. They remained friends, very close ones, though nothing like what Lexa had with Clarke, which only served to cement her recent revelations.

She took Octavia's advice, talked with her priest, who was surprisingly accepting of her, explaining how God was love and there was no shame in experiencing this love with any fellow Man. She was grateful for this tolerant man, but knew her grandmother and fellow parishioners wouldn't react the same. She re-read the bible with a more critical eye, distanced herself from her church, started talking to a therapist instead.

When August rolled around, she had made her choice: she wouldn't go to med school. Instead, she would take a semester off, find a waitressing job to make enough money for a trip she was planning, and write an essay that was long overdue.


	39. Chapter 39

Nine years, nine months and twenty-six days had gone by. If Lexa was counting, it was simply because she had OCD—it was in no way related to a certain blonde whose memory had begun to fade. With the recently enforced law of early arrival to the airport—at least five hours in advance—Lexa had a whole afternoon to rehash the big blur that was her first decade as an adult.

It had started and ended in tragedy, a foreboding metaphor for Lexa's entire existence. In between, she caught a brief break. During the summer of 2017, she snagged a job at a public library, worked on her essay, then when the acceptance letter came in early November, she busied herself with preparations for her impending trip to dreamy Sorbonne. When March finally came around, a few days before she would join the prestigious Parisian college and become the literature professor of her dreams, her break was over. The school of life was back in session, and its newest lesson was particularly difficult. That evening, Gertrude went out on a stroll and didn't come back. After a night of searching and catastrophizing, Lexa found her grandmother cleaning the sewers. A series of tests revealed a rather early onset of dementia. The irony wasn't lost on Lexa; at least now her grandmother wouldn't have to deal with her own demons anymore. She would find peace on this earth at last. Naturally, Lexa stayed by her side. She wasn't about to leave the only human being who never left her—not willingly at least. All thoughts of the Sorbonne, and the ray of light illuminating the city of Paris, whose absence left Lexa cold and hollow, were long forgotten. Ever the planner, Gertrude had put aside enough money to get their little family by for a few years; long enough for Lexa to get an online Masters in French Literature, and start teaching French at a nearby public high school.

For a few years, Proust, Baudelaire, Hugo and friends. kept Lexa company. At least the French writers weren't imaginary—just dead. Octavia proved to be an even better friend than the otherwise friendless girl had expected. The rebellious teen had turned into a belligerent adult, choosing to skip the college experience altogether and become and MMA champion. Octavia went from one odd job to another for a couple of years, all the while honoring a parting promise she gave Clarke, to look over Raven. Still, in between pursuing her dreams of glory and ass kicking and nursing her best friend to health, the admirable women always managed to make time for Lexa. For which the young professor was grateful; Octavia was the only person with whom she could talk about Clarke, in vain attempts of hanging on to her memory. That too was to be taken from her. After years of convalescence, Raven finally decided she was done being a patient. It was time to make it on her own. She was moving to Canada, one of "the top 5 secretly badass country", to pursue a career as an explosives expert—she had finally decided to channel her explosive temperament into something more manageable. Lexa could still recall Octavia's expression as she sprung the astounding news on her: the usually brooding brunette was beaming, as she explained how her existence had become entwined with Raven's, and how she would go wherever her indestructible friend went. Lexa also remembered how in that moment, she started counting down the number of people who were exiting her world. She made a mental list, like the one in _And Then There Were None_. Who would be next?

She would have to wait two more years to find out. Six years after Clarke moved away, on a particularly rainy October morning, Lexa got a call from Abby. She hadn't talked to the Griffins in Clarke's absence. She thought it would be easier to preserve her love's memory if it didn't get tainted by any new information. She wanted to make time stand still, until they could pick up where they left off. But the moment she heard Abby's torn voice, she immediately regretted not spending any time with Clarke's parents. And now it was too late. Jake was gone. He had gone into cardiac arrest in his sleep. Just like that. Having only ever been confronted with slow, never-endingly painful deaths like the one her grandmother was going through, Lexa couldn't grasp that aspect of dying: a single light switch, the push of a button, and the person is no more. Her only consolation, which shamed and comforted her in equal parts, was Clarke's trip home to attend the funeral.

Clarke didn't come back for the funeral. When Lexa turned to Abby for answers, all the grief-stricken widow had to say was that Clarke wasn't returning her calls anymore. She left the apartment she had been living in for years the day after Abby told her the devastating news; without a trace. When Abby asked her if she had been in touch with her friend, Lexa didn't know what to say. It had obviously occurred to her to contact Clarke by a number of means on numerous occasions over the years, but that ever-present fear of rejection, of having nothing to say but a vague promise without a timeline, of ruining whatever small chance she still stood of one day being reunited with her lost love, always stopped her in her tracks. And now Clarke too had vanished. What was Lexa to do? She continued to diligently teach and tend to her grandmother like the good numb girl she had always been.

Over the years, she had gone on dates. She fooled around with girls—nothing too daring tough. Not that she didn't feel the need for it; she just didn't find the right girl to explore her sexuality with. Clarke had set the bar too high, and Lexa was biding away her time until she found her way back to her soulmate. As the years went by, she got accustomed to the loneliness. It became oddly comforting; it was all she knew anymore. She went on less and less dates, stopped giving away her phone number, then went off social media altogether. With Clarke's disappearance, her transformation—or rather regression—was complete. She went back to being a full-time shut-in. New-Kitty became her best friend—her only friend.

The only reaction to Clarke gone missing that Lexa let herself have was writing. About her fallen sky princess. Over and over again, to conjure her up or to expel her memory, she wasn't sure. Soon, writing about her and regaling New-Kitty with tales of their brief love story weren't enough to quench her thirst. So she started having conversations with her missing half in her head. She wasn't back in the "imaginary friends" territory, because she was well aware the girl in her heart and mind was only a remnant, a poor recreation of someone she once knew. PastClarke mostly bantered with her, always ready with a witty retort or a fun anecdote. Whenever Lexa was feeling lonely or stuck, PastClarke would either tell her to "stop being a wuss and do something about it", or to "just breathe, Lex, and be patient, for this too shall pass."

Nine years after her diagnosis, Gertrude passed away like she lived her life—calmly, without making any waves. Followed by New-Kitty, who at age ten was getting rather old. A kidney-attacking virus got the best of her, and so Lexa was left with no one. It didn't surprise her; she had seen it coming for years. Her brief interlude with Clarke had been nothing but a reprieve meant to create memories that would alleviate her suffering when this exact moment came. The moment where she had to succumb to emptiness once more. After a couple of days spent staring at the ceiling of her room, she went to school to tender her resignation, and got offered a position instead. In Paris, no less. As part of a teacher exchange program. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the irony, but having the energy for neither, she got up to leave. But as she walked away, she could practically hear PastClarke's voice in her head, telling her that maybe life should be about more than just surviving. She took the job.

Boarding finally started, after hours of Lexa's mind being bombarded with memories of her one true love. Their parting moments from all those years ago haunted her during her whole plane ride to the destination she was always meant to reach. She recalled the other girl's lukewarm well-wishes; and the hug Lexa couldn't resist giving her in the middle of that crowded restaurant, on that fateful night where the group was bidding their travelling friend farewell. Lexa's spine still tingled at the memory of a heartbeat against her chest that wasn't her own, the feel of the nape in which she buried her head. No wonder she had held her former friend longer than was socially acceptable. In that moment, she had known she should squeeze enough to last her a lifetime—one that amounted to nine years, nine months and twenty-six days.


End file.
